The Hogwarts Ambassadors
by megnogg
Summary: "I fear no other two students might fill the role half as well as you two." And with that, Dumbledore dismissed the baffled students, who parted ways without so much as a glare or snide comment. Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger would be attending Beauxbatons. Together.
1. Chapter One

**Disclaimer- I own nothing about this, and that goes for the entire book.**

A/N - This book ignores the deaths of several characters and many important events in the last two books of the series. There is a surprising lack of concern about Voldemort here! Much more room for fluff. I think I'll write darker fanfiction later. For now, Dramione!

Chapter One - The Not-So-Great Start to a Dubiously Decent Year

It was the sort of day where the gray of the streets melded seamlessly into the gray of the sky - the type of day where you can only see a hundred feet into the dreary atmospheric haze before everything became an indistinguishable blur. At the King's Cross Station, however, two flashes could be seen, both coming from a teenage girl with unkempt, bushy brown hair and warm amber eyes. The first flash came as a gold glimmer, fastened onto her chocolate brown sweater, with the distinct engraving "Head Girl". The second flash came from her smile. It was a well known fact that at Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Hermione Granger was top of her class. An exceptionally clever witch, this was the most coveted position Hermione could dream of.

"I'm fairly shocked you didn't get Head Boy, Harry," said Hermione. "Though I suppose Dumbledore can't risk showing favoritism like that-"

"Favoritism?" Ron Weasley exclaimed indignantly. "Harry's saved Hogwarts loads of time, hasn't he? That's a good enough reason to get Head Boy if you ask me!"

Harry Potter, the famous boy-who-lived, merely shrugged. "My grades could've stood to do better. And I haven't exactly adhered to the rules if you think about it."

"Well," said Ron, thinking on it more. "I suppose so. At least I'll only have to put up with one of you trying to dock me points for not tucking my shirt in, or some other rubbish." Hermione flushed red as in that moment, she had been surveying Ron's slapdash outfit with pursed lips.

"I'll bet you Head Boy is in Ravenclaw," chirped a light voice belonging to Ginny Weasley, who had just crossed the barrier into Platform Nine and Three Quarters.

"At least I'll be able to stand them, then," said Hermione, scrunching up her face in thought of a Slytherin Head Boy.

One after another, they climbed aboard the Hogwarts Express, hauling their heavy trunks in before them with groans. It was the first day of their seventh and final year at Hogwarts (excluding Ginny, who was a sixth year) and though excitement coursed through them, a part of their souls seemed align with the soggy weather. Hogwarts was like a home that one had to move away from sooner than one would've liked. It was for that reason Hermione vowed to soak up all the knowledge she could - and maybe get into a few harmless adventures with her two best friends by her side before adult life hit them like a plowing train. Separating momentarily from the two red heads and Harry, Hermione made her way back to the front of the Hogwarts Express where she would wait to meet the Head Boy and the school prefects. She suddenly felt a nervousness hit her through a wave of nausea - was she really cut out for such responsibility? No one had ever paid her any mind when she had previously tried to enforce the rules; thoughts of Slytherin first years sneering at her made her head ache.

 _Slytherins,_ thought Hermione, _maybe I'll leave them to my probably-Ravenclaw counterpart._

Just then, the prefect compartment door slid open, and Hermione could see that that plan wasn't going to be an option. Looking down multiple times at the badge fastened to his inky black robes, Hermione's face could only truly summarize her feelings of horror. Draco Malfoy, in all his glory. His white-blond, pale skin, ice cold blue eyed glory.

He sneered at her, and for just a moment she considered ripping the badge off her own chest and handing it back to Dumbledore, apologizing for having to disappoint him. But she quickly regathered her resolve, and gazed levelly back at Malfoy.

"Dear God I thought Dumbledore was finally getting some taste when I received my badge," Malfoy shot. "But now I see the old fraud's just trying to torture me. I won't be working with you, Mudblood."

The words were biting, but Hermione had heard them one too many times to let them get to her. "Perfect. Turn in your badge and I'm sure Dumbledore will choose someone more deserving - obviously he wasn't wearing his glasses when he gave _you_ a badge," Hermione scoffed. She was resolved. Fire was in her blood and this year, her last year of Hogwarts, was not going to be filled with jeers from the likes of Malfoy.

"Yeah, and let a Mudblood run the school? I think I'd rather die."

Both their eyes narrowed, staring daggers at each other, and momentarily they didn't realize the compartment was slowly filling with fifth and sixth year prefects - two to each house. Hermione drew her gaze away first, determined to take the reins of this meeting -

"Right, you lot, listen up," came Malfoy's voice before Hermione could even open her mouth. "If you're Slytherin or Ravenclaw, follow me. I'll be giving you your parol duties and thank goodness be getting away from this filth." His cold eyes flashed at Hermione and some of the prefects looked rather indignant.

"Listen here, _Malfoy_ -" came Ginny's voice, as a Gryffindor prefect.

"That's not very nice at all, Draco-" said a dreamy voice that could only belong to Luna Lovegood.

"We're supposed to work together," Hermione groaned, though she would much rather work alone. The thought of something unruly happening on the train because of their lack of teamwork flitted through her mind; she could only imagine Dumbledore's disappointment.

It didn't matter, however, because that exact moment, Malfoy stalked through the door into the hallway, Slytherins and eventually Ravenclaws following him. Hermione got a sympathetic look from Luna before she closed the door on her way out. "Well," said Hermione through gritted teeth, "off to a great start, aren't we?"

"Don't worry Hermione, if anything bad happens because of Malfoy's poor judgement, we'll all back you up." Ginny flashed her a reassuring smile.

Needless to say, it was a horrendous train ride to Hogwarts. The patrols, having been divided and unclear on each other's routes, blundered into each other constantly, and more than a few times were all concentrated on one train car at once, leaving the rest unattended to practice unlawful behavior as they pleased. In the second car, some fourth years had set off some of Dr. Filibuster's Fabulous Wet-Start, No-Heat Fireworks that were a menace to shoot down and left Hermione's robes a little more scorched than she would've liked. In the fourth car, Pansy Parkinson had slipped something in Neville Longbottom's hot chocolate that made him puke relentlessly, and once again, Hermione was left alone to clean up.

By the end of the train ride, Hermione was burnt, puked on, scratch by her own cat, Crookshanks, whose tail had been trodden on by Millicent Bulstrode, and doused in vinegar by a water balloon thrown about by unruly Hufflepuffs. Just when she was about to scream at no one in particular, a tall figure shoved her to the side, trying to get through the hall.

"Jesus, Granger, didn't those Muggles ever teach you about hygiene? Or is that just a wizard thing?" Malfoy sneered. It was lucky Luna popped into the car when she did; her strangeness had a weird way of repelling Malfoy, who took one look at the radishes hanging from her ears and stalked off with a look of disgust.

"I need to get Dumbledore to see this isn't going to work out," said Hermione, defeated. "In fact, I can't believe he didn't see this straight away!" It hurt her to doubt one of her heroes, but enough was enough.

"Hermione, I think Dumbledore knows what he's doing," said Luna wisely. "Draco could do with a little bit of help from you."

Hermione flashed her a surprised look, before remembering dully who she was talking to. Exasperated, she just asked, "How are you on first name basis with that - that rotten-"

Luna's eyes widened. "No one's too rotten, I think. I like to think me and him are friends..." She ended the sentence daintily, like she was nodding off to sleep. Hermione shook her head in disbelief. The look Malfoy would have if he heard that Looney Lovegood thought him as a friend. But the thought faded quickly from her mind, as Hogwarts came rolling into view. In a few hours time, this nightmare would end, because Hermione was determined to have Dumbledore see her way. Draco Malfoy was wholly unsuited for any position of power - Head Boy included.

* * *

A/N: This is my first ever time writing fanfiction! I know there's a lot of Dramione out there but I love them together and can you blame me? I would love to hear what you think, I'm a bit apprehensive about sharing my writing with people. Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two - A Plea from Dumbledore

The beginning of the year festivities couldn't go by fast enough, in Hermione's opinion, and truthfully she couldn't tear her eyes away from Dumbledore's - any moment he would look in her direction and would simply have to see her fury with the entire unfortunate situation of Draco Malfoy and her - _partners_. How absolutely revolting. Her feet tapped impatiently through the entirety of the Sorting Hat's song - which had something to do with fixing broken ties. Her claps were forced as new first years took their place at the Gryffindor table. Her plate of food remained untouched and then, miraculously - "Prefects will lead their houses to their common rooms for the remainder of the night."

Shoving herself from her spot at the table (and very nearly knocking Ron over in the process), Hermione strode towards Dumbledore. Finally, his eyes flickered towards hers and - was that a twitch of amusement from underneath his beard? She almost slowed, doubting if this was really best. It wasn't until she saw Malfoy making the same beeline towards the Headmaster did she almost break out into a run, anxious to get the first word. If anyone was going to retain their badge, it was going to be her.

"Professor Dumbledore, sir," Malfoy yelled, picking up his pace. It was an uncharacteristically polite tone he usually reserved for no professor but Snape, the Potions master. "If I could just have a word-"

"Yes, yes," chortled Dumbledore, eyes full of merriment. "You can both have your say, but I should think here a very inappropriate place for it." Sure enough, the entire table of professors lingered, watching Malfoy and Hermione with high amusement. Hagrid had a look of concern, to which Hermione tried to communicate everything was alright - or at least it was about to be. "Follow me to my office," Dumbledore instructed, bright blue robes flashing as he turned and led them through a side door. Malfoy shot her a dirty glare as she rushed to be first after the Headmaster. _Ha_ , she thought. _You can't very well insult me right now, can you?_ Hermione only wished he would, just to prove her point.

They arrived at the gargoyle that Hermione recognized as the entrance to the Headmaster's office; sure enough, as soon as Dumbledore breathed the words 'toffee eclair' the gargoyle leapt into action and cleared the way for the odd trio to enter. Hermione felt a sort of pride to be standing in the Headmaster's office. She never would admit it, but all of Harry's admissions to such a rarely viewed place made her rather jealous. Now, she could freely admire all the wonderful magical artifacts and tools and oh, was that Fawkes the Phoenix?

Wait. That all had to wait. She had a purpose being here, and that was to stop Malfoy and his rottenness from running the entire school into the ground. As soon as the wizened headmaster took a seat and conjured up two chintzy armchairs for his guests, Hermione began.

"Sir, I trust your decision in the end but I just can't help wonder why I've been paired with Malfoy as Head Boy - I mean, surely you must know how he..." She paused. Should she accuse Malfoy in front of him like this? It was true, he had tormented her every day of her life here at Hogwarts, hexing her, calling her foul names, making her life a living hell when he could. But there was that nagging feeling (that she attributed to having a conscience) that said it wasn't fair to shame Malfoy like this in front of Dumbledore. At least, not while Malfoy was standing here himself.

The nagging feeling faded in an instant as Malfoy opened his horrible, lying mouth. "Sir, you can't imagine how uncooperative Granger was on the train today - she simply refused to help me, all because, well, I think she's rather upset with me for doing better than her on the Potions exam last year-"

Hermione's face became crimson red, her mouth fell open, and before she could regain control of her voice, Dumbledore spoke.

"That's enough now, from both of you," he said, though his eyes flashed in warning towards Malfoy. "Believe it or not, I know about your animosity towards one another (though it pains me) and under any other circumstances, my choices in Head Boy and Girl would be far more... suitable for day-to-day interaction. However, I have picked each of you - yes, _each_ of you, Mister Malfoy - for very specific purposes. I'm afraid you won't have a very normal school year at all."

 _When do we ever?_ both of the students couldn't help but think. Unsure of what to say, they remained quiet to allow Dumbledore his explanation.

"In times of such hardship, nothing is more important in the wizarding community than keep strong ties between one another," Dumbledore continued. Malfoy scoffed. If Dumbledore thought he could have a strong tie with _Granger_ , the Mudblood, the old man was barmier than he thought. "That's why this year we are entertaining the idea of student ambassadors. Unfortunately, after the Triwizard Tournament, Hogwarts could certainly suffer to have better relations with both Durmstrang and Beauxbatons. I'm afraid both schools hold a bit of hostility towards us - after all, we did have two champions."

"But I thought all that was worked out!" Hermione cried. "I mean, we learnt who entered Harry and why!"

"Yes, that is true, which is why both schools have forgiven us. But the fact remains, the Tournament was meant to unify, but it did quite the opposite I'm afraid," said Dumbledore.

"So," Malfoy began slowly, "are you saying I'm to go to Durmstrang to be an ambassador and Granger to Beauxbatons?" Hermione could tell he was eager to separate from her, and she couldn't help share this sentiment. But Beauxbatons? All the way in France? When her friends were here? It was a sickening way to imagine her last year.

"Heavens, no," replied Dumbledore. "No one will be setting foot near Durmstrang. In recent times, it's turned completely to the education of Dark Arts, I'm afraid. Our ties with them, unfortunately, will be temporarily severed. Beauxbatons however, is more than willing to accommodate two of our finest students."

Draco blanched. He would still be stuck with the Mudblood. The Mudblood who sat next to him, shifting uncomfortably in her seat, probably thinking about how superior in intelligence she was to him.

"Sir," she began timidly. "I don't think I'd like to leave Hogwarts and my friends when it's my last year here..."

Draco was shocked to hear the teacher's pet openly dislike a professor's ideas - much less the Headmaster!

"Of course, no one is forcing you to go. However, I must say, you will have free reign to visit Hogwarts any weekend you please, or for any holidays. A Floo network has been set up between the two schools, in fact, if you'd like to see them daily. Additionally, as part of our experiment, Hogwarts will often have school trips for those fifth year and up to visit Beauxbatons, and vice versa. I would venture to say you'll be seeing Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley weekly, if not more. As for not attending Hogwarts classes... Well, I hardly think this is the last year you'll be spending at Hogwarts, if I recall Minerva's reports on your impeccable transfiguration abilities."

Hermione gaped. Was he alluding to her being a professor here? She was stunned - absolutely thrilled, of course, but stunned.

"I implore the two of you, do think about it. I chose you both because of your specific talents. You'll have the week to decide, and I'll be having meetings with each of you individually, for I fear no other two students might fill the role half as well as you two." And with that, Dumbledore dismissed the baffled students, who parted ways without so much as a glare or snide comment.

* * *

Harry and Ron's expressions were just what Hermione imagined them to be - jaws to the floor, eyes wide, and an almost irritating amount of time before any words came out of their mouths.

" _Beauxbatons_?" Ron asked again.

"But that's in the _Alps_ , Hermione," said Harry, as though he couldn't fathom a place further away.

"The Pyrenees, Harry, the Pyrenees," she corrected. "I have to say... The idea is attractive." She bit her lip nervously. "Beauxbatons offers loads of classes we don't have here, and when I think of how much I'd be learning..." She drifted off.

"Of course, that's the up side," said Ron. "But the down side..."

"I won't be at school with my two best friends." The thought was painfully depressing. _And with Malfoy_ , she couldn't help but add in her mind bitterly.

"Hermione," said Harry, looking struck by... Well, something. He suddenly seemed resolute. She didn't know whether to be worried or not. When Harry became resolute, it was either a stroke of genius or an implication of doing something stupidly reckless. "Hermione, I think you should absolutely go for it - it's a once in a lifetime opportunity."

It was Hermione's turn for her jaw to drop. She had a part of her, without knowing it, that had hoped one of them would say this but... She still never expected it. Neither, apparently, did Ron.

" _What_?" he roared. "We can't just lose our best friend to the bloody French!"

"Ron, Dumbledore said they've connected a Floo network - we could see her everyday, the only difference being she won't be in class, but even now, most of her schedule is different from ours. Plus, Dumbledore thinks it's best and I can't help but believe him," said Harry firmly, and surprisingly reasonable. Hermione thought she might cry. She didn't realize this is what she wanted until now, either, and she studied Ron's face with growing apprehension. He looked back at her, for a long time too, expression unreadable.

"It'll be bloody weird, but... I reckon I could get used to it. If I knew you were happy and all," Ron said stubbornly.

"Oh Ron! Harry!" Hermione couldn't keep it in any longer - tears were pouring from her eyes and she threw her arms around her two friends - the best friends anyone could ask for. She received awkward half hugs back and pulled away, face shining. "You'll have to keep me absolutely informed on everything. Oh, I do think I'd like to come back here for transfiguration, I can't imagine having a teacher other than Professor McGonagall..."

"But Malfoy though," whistled Ron. "Bloody hell. Hopefully they'll put him at the opposite end of that school. I wouldn't touch him with a ten foot pole."

Malfoy certainly was the main reason Hermione had any doubt left in her mind.

She also had a feeling Dumbledore knew this, and would be discussing it with her very, very shortly.

* * *

The next day, Draco lay on his bed, unmoving, for a very long time. Other Slytherin boys came and went from the dormitory, but nobody disturbed him. It was clear he was deep in thought, and it was also clear, after all these years, not to interrupt him. He could barely put together any reasons to go to bloody Beauxbatons, except for classier, more attractive girls, and he couldn't think of any reasons to stay at bloody Hogwarts, other than he had already created a reputation and following that he rather enjoyed.

Of course, Weasley and Potter, the idiots, would be at Hogwarts.

Yet the Mudblood, damn her obsession with learning, would probably choose Beauxbatons for their range of classes.

He sighed. You just couldn't escape filth, no matter what school you went to.

He considered talking to someone about it. Certainly not Crabbe or Goyle; they couldn't even formulate a proper sentence on a good day. Zabini was his friend for status reasons. Pansy was ghastly to talk to. He could just imagine Granger shrieking to Potty and Weasel about what an amazing privilege, and them, being so obsessed in their little sanctified trio, told her that they would support her no matter what she decided.

He sat up from his bed, letting out another sigh. Whatever decision he made wouldn't matter until he spoke to his father about it. Draco headed to the owlery, full of discontent.

A/N: I hope you're liking it! I'm not sure if it's going to slow or not, I'm actually about five chapters into writing it though. Thanks for reading it though and also I got a review and I am extremely happy about it! Thank you!


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three - Copious Amounts of Optimism

It was only a day later when two separate letters were dropped in front of Draco by two separate owls - one with the loopy lettering of what could only be Professor Dumbledore's writing, and one with small, brusque strokes - his father's. He opened the latter first.

 _Draco,_

 _I must admit I am surprised to hear that the student ambassadors will be Head Boy and Girl, though I can't find fault in Dumbledore's statement that you are most suited for such a position. As for the Muggle-born... Well, as insulting as it is, her being Head Girl at your side, I feel fairly confident Beauxbatons, which keeps considerably higher standards than Hogwarts, will rather fix that situation on its own. I've often thought Hogwarts was going to the dumps because of Dumbledore, and here he presents us the perfect opportunity for you to attend somewhere of refinement. I will insist that you take it._

 _Your mother sends her regards._

 _-Lucius Malfoy_

And that was it. It was decided. Malfoy scowled at the letter, not knowing whether to pleased or upset that he had no say in the matter. I insist that you take it. Absolutely no room for argument. He reread the line about Granger, and the more he thought on it, the more he realized, Beauxbatons would surely repel her. Slowly, but surely. It would start with the obvious differences - Beauxbatons students dressed in the finest silks, fitted closely to their fit bodies. Draco cringed to imagine what the Mudblood was like under her robes - it must be dwarfish and disfigured, from bending over books all day, void of sunlight and exercise. And her robes, the cheap rags, truthfully not much better than the Weasley's. She lacked taste, she lacked refinement. The Beauxbatons students had sleek hair, always perfectly in place, glossy, shining, beautiful - Granger's wild frizz would be absolutely comedic next to it all. Not to mention the plainness of her face. How absolutely revolting she would be, in Beauxbatons.

She wouldn't know how to act, either. What did Mudbloods know about wizarding etiquette, a thing bred in old houses like Malfoy's? He almost felt sorry; the girl was assured to make a complete and utter fool of herself. And that was another thing. She thought herself so superiorly intelligent - but Beauxbatons had classes and subjects Granger would have never even heard of. Honestly, Draco didn't think she could handle the pain of not being top of her class. And that just might send her running back to Hogwarts, if he was lucky. Of course, he would give a few of his own prods as well. Just to be safe.

A smirk had returned to his face for the first time since Dumbledore's office. Draco tore into the other letter, ready to face the dimwit Headmaster.

He would be meeting him after lunch. But Draco really didn't need anymore convincing. He was simply curious as to what Dumbledore had to say. Why was it so important for Malfoy to go to Beauxbatons?

* * *

Hermione was filled with energy, so much so that she almost ran past the stony gargoyle of Dumbledore's office on her way to their appointment together.

She was absolutely elated - she was going to go to Beauxbatons for the year, a school that had perhaps even a better reputation than Hogwarts itself! She, of course, had stayed up all night reading about the school, but reading gave her energy much like sleep did, so she wasn't feeling the repercussions of such a late night - yet. Hermione was enthralled to read the list of courses she could take - music courses, medical courses for advanced potions, wizard literature, art classes where the wand would be the paintbrush, even metaphysics and how magic worked. It had all the classes Hogwarts offered and more, and Hermione had even read that a shocking amount of Beauxbatons students could do magic without a wand by the end of their schooling.

When Hermione entered Dumbledore's office, she nearly slammed into Malfoy, who was just on his way out. He smirked evilly at her, like he knew something she didn't, before stalking out of the room. Dumbledore sat at his desk, looking very satisfied.

"Ah, Miss Granger! I should've known you'd be early," he said, eyes twinkling. Hermione blushed - she couldn't be too early, right?

"I've just been eager to tell you that I want to go to Beauxbatons!" Hermione blurted out nervously, hoping Dumbledore was still considering her for the job, despite her previous reluctance. However, his face split into a splendid grin.

"Most excellent! I was certainly hoping you would say that. I must say, you're rather an integral part of this student ambassador idea." Hermione couldn't contain her pleasure to hear this. "As is Malfoy, who has just agreed to attend as well." Some of Hermione's pleasure dissipated at this. Malfoy would absolutely be going then. Well, it was either deal with him here, or deal with him there. Dumbledore continued, "Being consistently top of your class for six years running now, I couldn't have envisioned a student more fit for the role of Head Girl. You will bring honor to Hogwarts while abroad, and something tells me you have enough courage in the face of Malfoy that you'll be quite capable of keeping him in line as well.

"However, I'm sure you must realize there is more to this role than just frivolous schoolwork in France," said Dumbledore, his tone becoming more serious. "Madame Maxime has expressed certain concerns, as of late, regarding Durmstrang, which has taken an unfortunate path. You will be assisting Madame Maxime, in anything she might require of you, and in fact, as I have informed the Headmistress all about you, she is showing rather a special interest in you particularly. You will attend private sessions with her weekly."

Hermione was filled with a wave of confusion. Private sessions with Madame Maxime? She had never formally met the woman, yet that seemed unusually characteristic. Surely she saved her time for the Fleur Delacours of the school?

"Sir, I don't understand. What am I supposed to help with?" asked Hermione.

"That," said Dumbledore, "is for Madame Maxime to tell you. You and Mr. Malfoy will be departing to Beauxbatons Saturday morning, so please take the time to pack carefully. And I will warn you - you'll be needing dress robes for Beauxbatons. They do love their balls."

Hermione left the Headmaster's office feeling a little shaken, if she was going to be honest. It appeared this trip was more complicated that it looked. Still, the trust Dumbledore must have in her to assign her to such a mission - and keep Malfoy in line, no less! It filled her with a certain pride, and bounce returning to her steps, she headed towards the Gryffindor common room where her best friends were anxiously waiting to hear what happened.

* * *

Draco had hoped that Granger had caught the tail end of his conversation with Dumbledore. The Headmaster had some sense in him after all, and had just told him he was to guide Hermione in the ways of French wizarding etiquette - more or less, he had said the Mudblood lacked refinement. His meeting had gone rather well, and though bristling to be spending time with the Muggle-sympathizer, Draco was feeling quite smug. Dumbledore had been ecstatic to hear Draco would be willing to attend Beauxbatons, and informed him Madame Maxime required his assistance to strengthen the security at Beauxbatons. She had even requested private sessions with him. Finally, a headmaster - well, headmistress - who appreciated his talents and not lousy Potter's.

Dumbledore, the old fraud, instructed him to guide Granger, as they would be working as a team at times, and both had talents the other lacked. Draco had to scoff at this. Granger didn't have any secret abilities that he didn't know about, and Draco was sure if he applied himself to his work, his grades would easily be above hers. In fact, Draco rather liked the idea of Granger being culture-shocked. The more she made a fool of herself, the more likely she would be to run back to Potter and Weasley, leaving him in glorious peace.

Saturday morning couldn't come sooner. Pansy had been particularly clingy lately, knowing he was off to - well, let's face it, more attractive girls.

"Draco, do you really have to go?" she whined.

"Yes." Was Draco's curt reply.

"Well," she sniffled. "Will you come visit me a lot?"

Draco looked down at the brunette whose arms were clutching his desperately. He wondered what her reaction would be if he just said no. "Of course," he lied, flashing her what he thought was a smile, but that anyone else would identify as a smirk. Well, maybe not Pansy. She was thrilled to get that smirk.

Draco's eyes travelled across the entrance hall where they landed on Granger, hugging Potter and Weasley and laughing jovially as they said their farewells. Typical. The Golden Trio wouldn't be together for much longer. The thought gave him pleasure, although he could easily imagine Granger ducking in and out of fireplaces to visit the two idiots. He wondered if it made her feel more intelligent, to hang around them. Absolutely pathetic.

Draco, at least, had made an effort to look the part of a Beauxbatons student. His best school robes were pressed neatly, inky black with silver linings and a touch of emerald that was a Malfoy family heir, pinned to his chest. His Head Boy badge lay somewhere forgotten in his trunk. He looked rich, and exceedingly so, fashionable and carefully groomed, except for his hair, which had just a hint of carelessness in its being pushed back lazily. Granger, however, had appeared to completely given up on wild her hair by pulling it back in a tangled knot at her neck. Her school robes seemed to be covered in ginger cat hair (or perhaps it was Weasley's hair; goodness knows he probably shed like some hairy beast) and were those scorch marks on her sleeves? The only thing that look mildly pleasant about her appearance was the glint of gold that came from her Head Girl's badge. Draco snorted. It would be hopeless for her.

Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Snape had come to see them off as well as Harry, Ron, Pansy, and a few other Slytherins. It wasn't until Hagrid came busting in the front doors did Hermione feel as though everyone close to her was there. Snape and the Slytherins crowded around Malfoy, some making vile remarks about Beauxbatons girls, much to the displeasure of Pansy. But Hermione only watched for a moment; Hagrid had just pulled her into one of his infamous, back-breaking hugs.

"I've tol' Maxime all about ye, o' course," Hagrid said, relenting his grip on her slightly. "She says she'd be pleased ter work wit' ye an' all." Somehow, it did comfort Hermione to know Hagrid had put in a good word. The half giant was always honest, if not a bit overzealous.

Harry and Ron hugged her once more each, whispering to her discreetly, "Remember Hermione-"

"If that sod tries anything-"

"We will come to France and personally deck him for you," Harry finished seriously. Hermione flashed them a grin.

"I think I'll be able to do that myself, really." The trio smiled blissfully, remembering third year when Hermione struck Malfoy right in the face.

Moments later, Hermione and Malfoy exited the Entrance Hall, a small crowd of friends and mentors behind them. Hermione, upon seeing their means of transportation, sucked her breath in quickly.

The pastel blue carriage was reminiscent of the one Madame Maxime and twelve Beauxbatons students had arrived in during the Triwizard Tournament, though this one was considerably smaller, pulled by only two great, white horses. A small attendant driving the horses hopped from his place in the front to haul their trunks into the storage compartment underneath, staggering under the weight of Hermione's (after all, it contained the equivalent of a small library of books). Hermione suddenly felt a dash self-conscious, realizing the driver was dressed in finer clothes than she had ever owned in her life. Not everyone in France was exceedingly rich, no matter what Malfoy's looks of disgust at her clothes suggested, and Hermione just so happened to know the Beauxbatons school uniforms were paid for by the school. She performed a quick cleaning charm on her robes while his back was turned and felt significantly better. After all, she wasn't about to let something as trivial as wealth stop her from going to Beauxbatons. Spirits high, and a couple books in arm for trip there, Hermione climbed into the carriage.

Moments later, Malfoy ducked in after her, nose wrinkled like something foul was in the air. "Only one compartment then? Shame."

Hermione, however, either didn't hear him or blatantly ignored him; she was too busy hanging out the window, waving frantically at her friends.

"Can you just sit down before you embarrass yourself?" Draco hissed, and suddenly Granger wasn't ignoring him anymore. No, in fact, she stared at him dead in the eyes. He stared back.

"You would try to ruin my last moments here," Granger frowned, sinking into the velvety seat across from him. He made an effort to stretch out his legs as much as he could across the carriage, so that she had no leg room.

"Relax Granger, I have no doubt you'll be dashing through the fireplaces tonight, telling them all about Beauxbatons. I'm sure Potty and Weasel would love to hear about the girls there - I mean, having to look at you all day?" He smirked.

It seemed as though Granger was getting redder and redder in the face, and whether she was about to burst into tears or into rage, Draco simply didn't care.

As it so happens, it turned out to be rage. Draco winced loudly as Granger kicked him in the shin and furiously shoved his legs out of her space, before she huffed angrily and opened a thick book on her lap. He was just about to call her something foul when the carriage gave a lurch - they were off to the Pyrenees.

A/N: Thank you for reading! From here my chapters are going to get a little bit longer. I hope you enjoyed, I'm having a great time writing this. Thank you for your feedback, too!


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four - Wherein Draco is Disgusted by His Hormones

Much to Hermione's surprise, she didn't finish a single book on the way to France. No, in fact, she was far too busy staring out of the window of the carriage in amazement - the Pyrenees were breathtaking. Even Malfoy was having trouble keeping a grimace on his face as he looked out towards the snow-capped peaks and dipping green valleys. The five hour carriage ride, which had seemed to pass painfully slowly in the beginning, now seemed like it had flew by in moments. Hermione had suspected sitting with Malfoy in brittled silence had made the beginnings of this trip rather unpleasant. She was pained to think how much more unpleasant it would've been if he had actually spoken to her.

But for now, all that was on either of their minds was the beauty of nature. And for the first time in five hours, the carriage had an amicable feeling in it. Hermione found herself staring at Malfoy for a little while; it wasn't often she saw him looking so at ease, and she was startled by it.

"Granger," said Malfoy suddenly, still staring out his respective window. "I've been told how handsome I am, so I get that you can't help but stare, except for I would prefer not to have a Mudblood thinking of what I look like without a shirt."

Hermione was absolutely indignant. "I was looking out the window to see the view from this side, you dense idiot, how conceited can someone be?" she lied quickly. Well, she wasn't lying about the conceited part. Nor the dense idiot part.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," Malfoy said carelessly, rolling his eyes.

"I can't wait to get out of this carriage and away from you," muttered Hermione under her breath.

"Ditto," came the reply.

As the carriage dipped slowly towards a rolling green valley, it seemed to be saying 'Your wish is my command'. A shaky, tumultuous landing and that was it - they had arrived at Beauxbatons.

Where Hogwarts was made of dark stone and towering spires, the very epitome of English Gothic architecture, the château of Beauxbatons was light, in true French Baroque style, sweeping, and incredibly - even larger than Hogwarts. The lawns were intricately arranged and manicured, though robust and almost wild at the same time. Hermione, of course, had read all about Beauxbatons - the reason it was so large was to host students from France, Spain, Belgian, Luxembourg, Portugal and the Netherlands. Its student body was almost double that of Hogwarts. Malfoy undoubtedly thought its size was only in relation to the schools wealth. Right away Hermione could spot the famous fountain in the front lawns - it was attributed to the Flamels, who poured much of their wealth into the school to cover the cost of uniforms and class material. And of course, the Flamels would have a soft spot for Beauxbatons - they attended here, after all. Hermione was in complete awe, and just as she had been when she first arrived at Hogwarts, hundreds of facts she had read about came rushing to her head and she couldn't help but share them.

"Did you know that this entire valley was created through the magic of hundred and hundreds of witches and wizards?"

Malfoy chose to ignore her, feeling a bit irritated he hadn't done much research on the place himself to shut her up. Luckily, something else shut her up. Unluckily, it had to be a dragon.

Hermione let out a gasp, jumping backwards and nearly knocking Malfoy over. "That's a Portuguese Long-Snout, oh Merlin's bloody beard! What are we going to do?" she fretted. The dragon was around thirty feet long, covered in light green scales and tromping right towards them - the long snout part of its name was certainly true, Hermione reflected. It could get her and Malfoy in just one go. "The chateau is too far to run to!" cried Hermione, nearly frightened enough to grab onto Malfoy's arm - sense caught her just in time. "What are we going to do?"

Draco, however, was unconcerned. His sharp eye saw something Hermione hadn't caught - a troop of small figures behind the dragon, wands pointed and yes, it became obvious now - they were steering it away from the chateau. Rather enjoying the panic in Hermione's voice, he stayed silent and admired the impressiveness of the whole place. Dragons guarding the castle, loads of trees to sneak off to with a girl on his arm - yes, he quite liked it here. Yet something caught his eyes. Something red.

Between Gryffindor's token color and Weasley's hair, Draco wasn't too fond of the color. Sure enough, it was coming toward them, it belonged to the hair of-

"Charlie?" Granger yelled, finally realizing the dragon situation was under control. "Charlie Weasley?"

The figure, now closer, was visibly smiling. Draco felt sickened. He just couldn't escape the Weasels, could he? Which one was this again? God, it was a headache to keep track. They certainly bred like weasels.

Granger wrapped her arms around the stocky Weasley, grinning widely. "Oh, I'm so glad to see a friendly face here already!" When they pulled apart, Draco got a full view of this Charlie fellow. Shorter than Ron by a head, and covered in scars and burns, Draco was reluctant to admit... He looked pretty badass. He kept his hair cropped close to his head and his robes seemed a bit tight around his arms. This wasn't a Weasley that Draco could take on in Muggle-styled fighting.

Charlie took notice of Draco immediately, with a frown and look of concern toward Granger. "This is who Dumbledore appointed as Head Boy?" he questioned. Draco scowled. What was that supposed to mean?

"Unfortunately," replied Hermione, not attempting to hide her tones of exasperation.

"Like I want to be paired with you, filthy little Mud-" But he stopped himself there, with one look at Charlie's contemptuous face.

"Right, well-" Charlie shot a glare at Malfoy, "-we'd better get up to the chateau. Maxime's waiting for you. She would've greeted you herself but, well, the dragon. She may be half giant like Hagrid but their similarities seem to end there, don't they?"

Hermione hurried after Charlie, all but forgetting her trunks and books, which were currently being unloaded by the same small driver who had packed them up. He grumbled under the weight, trying to catch Malfoy's eye for help, but Malfoy, with a sweep of his fine robes, followed after Granger and Weasley, quite irritated.

* * *

"Ah, mademoiselle, monsieur!" greeted Madame Maxime as the reached the towering doors of the chateau. Hermione suspected this must have been a newer addition with Maxime as headmistress. Her half-giantess self (though she would never admit to such a thing) seemed to take up half the extravagant entryway and Hermione and Malfoy both froze in place as she bent down to kiss their cheeks. "Merci, Charlie, merci beaucoup. Ah, je suis désolée, nous parlons le français ici... Est-ce que tu parles le français, mes chères?"

Hermione had just opened her mouth to reply when Malfoy pushed forward pompously. "Madame, how wonderful to meet you. My mother, being French, thought it very important to teach me the language and I can see now how useful it will be," said Malfoy, in fluent French. He shot a mock-pitiful look at Hermione, to which she ground her teeth angrily. "Now I'm not sure the girl picks up on very much of this at all-"

"Excuse me," interjected Hermione, in French. "French isn't going to be a problem for me, Madame. I've been to Alsace every year since I was three."

Now Malfoy was shocked. French was a language for the dignified - how on earth had the Mudblood managed that, anyways?

Madame Maxime was delighted, however. "Oh, it's wonderful news, that you both speak French! Truthfully, all of our classes are taught in French and our students are expected to speak it with one another. For the sake of courtesy, of course, if the Belgian students all spoke Flemish to each other, the chateau would be very divided indeed. Well, I'll show you to the Ambassador Chambers, if you'll follow me, dears!"

Hermione raised an eyebrow. Ambassador Chambers? She didn't know if she was relieved or disappointed not to have to share a dormitory with other girls. The thought of ten or so Fleurs sharing a room with her entered her mind; she shuddered. Hopefully the girls' Ambassador Chambers were far, far from Malfoy's. Maxime led them up and up spiraling staircases, and Hermione couldn't take in the surroundings enough. Portraits lined the walls as they had at Hogwarts but these seemed slightly more systematic in their layout, and - well, how would she put it to Harry and Ron? The subject of the paintings were a bit...

"Gives me an excuse to look at naked women all day, doesn't it?" Malfoy whispered into Hermione's ear, in English.

"You're disgusting."

"Don't worry, Granger," said Malfoy with a smirk. "I certainly won't be trying to catch a glimpse of you."

Turning her attentions back to the chateau, Hermione began to feel slowly more out of place - gaggles of students, both boys and girls, had passed them by, staring pointedly, some giggling and some looking with intrigue, but all of them dressed in that soft blue that would always imprint Hermione's mind with Fleur Delacour. She hoped to all the higher powers she could think of she would be allowed to wear her Hogwarts robes. She was sure she could fix the scorched parts with a bit of charms. But it wasn't just the clothes she was feeling out of place about - the building itself was so richly decorated, it felt only suitable to a queen. Hermione imagined being here day after day, her normal self, feeling very exhausted by the glamor. It lacked the homeyness that Hogwarts always had provided.

Shortly, Madame Maxime came to a stop in front of a beautifully carved door, displaying a rather breathtaking image of the mountainous landscape. "Here we are," she said in French. "The Ambassador Chambers! We renovated them just for your arrival, too!"

"Um..." began Hermione. "Whose are these again?"

Maxime looked momentarily confused, then regained herself. "Ah, you worry you'll have to share a bedroom with Monsieur Malfoy! Don't worry! Come, I'll show you what's inside." Waving her hand at the door (without a wand, Hermione noted, impressed), it swung open to reveal something that was much like a common room back at Hogwarts. In fact, it was very much like the Gryffindor common room - not French at all. It seemed Madame Maxime had specifically designed it for the English students to make them feel at home. For this, Hermione was infinitely grateful. She half expected to see nudes around the walls and hard looking sofas rather than cushy armchairs. The banners that hung on the wall were a vibrant Gryffindor red, and the armchairs were a deep Slytherin green. It was a lovely reminder to Hermione that just because she attended Beauxbatons, didn't mean she wasn't a Gryffindor through and through anymore.

"It's absolutely perfect!" said Hermione, smiling splendidly at Maxime, who smiled back cheerfully. Hermione turned towards Malfoy, half expecting him to be smiling too, but instead received a nonchalant shrug of the shoulders.

"'Ermione, your chambers are to the right, Draco, yours are to the left. I will leave you to here to do as you wish - rest, explore the chateau, or the grounds (though mind the dragon) but do make sure to come down for dinner." And with a fabulous flourish and rather a lot of ducking to fit through the doorway, Madame Maxime had exited the Ambassador Chambers, leaving Hermione and Malfoy very much alone for the second time today.

"What the hell?" cursed Malfoy viciously, making Hermione jump. "I come here to try to get more space from the likes of you, and now we share a goddamn common room?"

Hermione crossed her arms. "I don't like it either, but I don't exactly see the point of being a whiny baby about it, since you can easily stay in your own chambers."

"Don't patronize me, Granger," hissed Malfoy venomously. "It's been a long day, I'm probably filthy from sharing a carriage with a Mudblood!"

"I do wish you had jumped out then!" shouted Hermione, anger coming over her.

"I think the better solution would've been to boot you out!" Malfoy yelled in her face.

"I'm starting to think hurdling through the air to my death would be _much_ nicer than being stuck here with you!"

"Well then we've reached an agreement! Next time, kindly kill yourself!"

That was it for Hermione. She gave Malfoy a heavy shove away from her, as he had gotten inches from her face in rage, and strode off to her chambers, slamming the great oak door behind her. Sinking into her bed, she let out a few angry tears, and then she noticed all her luggage was at the foot of her bed. She looked around, calming down. It would be quite nice to have an entire bedroom to herself, she admitted, even if she had to occasionally bump into that blond git in the common room. Another door stood at the far end of the bedroom; Hermione crawled over her huge bed to get to it. It swung open to reveal a bathroom much like the prefects' bathroom at Hogwarts. A large bathtub sunk into the ground with faucets of multitudes of variety surrounded it. The far wall was completely mirrored, and the toilet seemed hidden behind a thick, golden curtain. It was more than extravagant; Hermione couldn't believe this was her own personal bathroom. She supposed things were looking up, after all. Closing the door softly behind her, she returned to her bed, pulled her book on Beauxbatons out, and began to read.

At least, she had read about a sentence before she heard a knock on her door. And who could it be but Malfoy? She ignored it. It rapped again. And again.

"Granger open the bloody door already." Yes, she had been right. She continued to read, albeit distracted. "Oh for crying out loud - alohomora!" And suddenly the door was open, and Malfoy was in her bedroom, without his robes, his shirt buttoned hastily. Hermione leapt off her bed.

"Get OUT!" she yelled, brandishing her wand. How were he protective spells around her room so lax? A boy could never alohomora his way into the girls' dormitories at Hogwarts!

"Granger, we've got a problem," said Malfoy, ignoring her completely.

"Well then deal with it yourself, for once in your life!"

"Granger!" Malfoy yelled. "I haven't got a BLOODY bathroom!"

Oh. Hermione let her wand down. This was a problem indeed. "Are you sure?"

"Granger." Malfoy seemed to be trying desperately not to hex her right then as he pushed out his next words. "Do you really think... I am daft enough... To not see a giant goddamn bloody door on the wall?"

Hermione flushed red. "Fine, get in, get out, and then leave me alone. We'll bring it up with Maxine tonight, okay?"

Malfoy started towards the bathroom, then stopped suddenly. "What?" Hermione snapped, seating herself on her bed once more.

"You haven't used the bathroom yet, have you?"

Hermione blinked. "No I haven't used it yet, why?"

"Ah, well. That's good. It's still clean, then."

Draco nearly didn't escaped the book that came flying at his head by darting into the bathroom. He could hear the heavy book slam into the wood door and fall to the ground outside. Crazy Mudblood.

Hermione had become so engrossed in her book that she almost forgot Malfoy was in her bathroom taking a bath. That is, until the door swung open and Malfoy strutted out, wearing nothing but a towel around his middle and hold two very silky blue outfits in each hand with a look of contempt. "Granger!" he barked, startling her.

The first thing she saw was her enemy nearly naked standing at the foot of her bed - which would be enough for anyone to feel the color rise to their face. The second thing she noticed was... "Are those Beauxbatons uniforms?"

"Yes," Draco frowned. It was fine fabric, that much was undeniable, but Merlin's beard, could they have chosen a more feminine color that wasn't pink? No, Draco much preferred his black robes. Still, he supposed, to get on Maxime's good side, he would wear the getup to dinner. But only just this once. He threw the corresponding female uniform at Granger, where it landed on her knees, and turned to leave the room. "There you go, Granger. Only our first day and you've gotten to see me with my shirt off!" Then he stalked off, slamming the door behind him. Hermione scowled at where he had been standing before taking the lovely silk into her hands.

Well. She had been dreading this, but she supposed it couldn't hurt to wear them, just this once. Placing various locking spells on her bedroom door, Hermione felt comfortable enough to strip off her Hogwarts uniform and pull on the shimmery Beauxbatons one. She still had a feeling of horror in the pit of her stomach upon seeing such a scantily clad Malfoy.

It felt very unusual, the French uniform. Where the Hogwarts clothes had been heavy and warm, these were light, and almost felt as though they weren't really there. They hugged much too close to her body, despite her desperate attempts to use a stretching spell on them, and the skirt wouldn't quite reach her knees no matter how much she pulled. Feeling very bare on her legs, she slipped on the powder blue heels and NO. Absolutely not. Witches being forced into heels? She couldn't stand it. She pushed these aside and slipped on her brown oxfords instead. She also conveniently forgot the small pointed hat on her bed, as it felt absolutely ridiculous. Taking one last shaky breath and a scowling look in the mirror, Hermione left the sanctity of her bedroom and instantly felt herself being scrutinized by Draco Malfoy. His face remained impassive, which she should've been thankful for, as he could of easily laughed at her, so she took the time to scrutinize him in return.

She couldn't lie to herself. Pale blue was a good look for Malfoy - something to do with it matching his eyes. The blazer and slacks were slim fitting and this was the first time (other than just seeing him half naked) that Hermione realized the seventh year Slytherin was in remarkably good shape. As he sauntered over to her, brushing his white-blond hair from his face, she felt her breath stupidly quicken; oh, the Beauxbatons girls would eat him up. She got the feeling this is what he wanted, too. It was only too easily to imagine a Veela-like girl on his arm.

Trying to pull her skirt down once more, (Malfoy's eyes flickered down as she did so) Hermione sighed. "I suppose we should get to dinner then?"

"I suppose so," said Malfoy quietly, following her out the door.

As Draco followed Granger, he felt something awful in his stomach. Like a strange mixture between disappointment and, well, attraction. He was extremely disappointed that the Mudblood wasn't horribly disfigured as he had always imagined her to be. It was easier to insult her when he genuinely believed she had a hunchback. But no, of course she didn't. She had a small frame, nice smooth legs, good posture, and a surprisingly firm - no, he wouldn't go there. He would be as low as Weasley if he thought about the Mudblood's ass. Now, if she were pureblood, half-blood even, then he could think about it just as much as he pleased. Wait, was he still thinking about it? Of course he was, she was walking right in front of him in that skirt, how couldn't he? Malfoy suddenly tried to fill his mind with her flaws - she used to have such big teeth. Well, used to. Frustrated that he could no longer hold that against her, his thoughts turned back to how she walked in that skirt.

"You know, blue really isn't your color," he said, desperate to say something insulting to her.

"Oh no, how will I survive dinner now?" Granger replied in a dull, mocking tone. There it was. She may look nice, but she was still aggravating as all hell. Still, they entered the dining hall together, and Draco was once again pleased by the decorum of the grand chateau - it reminded him of Malfoy Manor, albeit a little lighter atmospherically. Gargantuan chandeliers hung precariously from the ceiling, catching the light from the sunset just out the many windows, and the room was coated in a brilliant orange-pink lighting. Many tables spread evenly across the hall, all with lacy white table clothes and crystal glasses. A dozen or so students could fit comfortably to each table, and then, at the very end of the hall, the largest table of all, sat Madame Maxime and the rest of the Beauxbatons professors, sipping happily on French wines as more students filed in.

The students of Beauxbatons easily identified Draco and Granger, despite their attempts to integrate into society (though Hermione left half the school uniform sitting on her bed). Suddenly aware of his close proximity to Granger, Draco strode off without a word, to join a table of the most obviously attractive students - five girls, all attractive enough to be Veelas if it weren't for the fact that most of them didn't have silver-blonde hair. Two more boys joined the table, quickly introducing themselves to Malfoy. Hermione watched the entire scene play out, as Malfoy, just like that, joined Beauxbatons most elite circle without any effort whatsoever. Scanning the room, Hermione felt overwhelmed. Who would be friendly and who wouldn't? Certainly many students were looking at her curiously, but none extended any invitation. She felt rather silly in that moment, so concerned with whom she would sit. Before she had to decide, however, a hand rested on her shoulder.

"Alright there, Hermione?" She almost thought it was Ron until she turned to see Charlie. She beamed. There was a friendly face! "I know it can be a bit grandeur," he said, jerking his head to all the students. "But most of these kids look just like Hogwarts kids - just stuck in fancier clothes. Speaking of which, you look nice. Anyways, you can join me if you don't mind sitting with a bunch of shabby English dragon handlers."

Hermione was more than delighted to dine with the rowdy English crew. She took her place and immediately felt as though she were sitting at the Gryffindor table. She was quickly introduced to ten wizards from ages eighteen to thirty, and was desperate to remember them. She had just gotten into a rather informative conversation with

Charlie about the Portuguese Long-Snout when suddenly there was a surge of noise all at once - hundreds of chairs scraping along the floor as the Beauxbatons students rose quickly to their feet. Hermione hastened to join them. She had seen them do this during their stay at the Triwizard Tournament - they were required to stand whenever Madame Maxime stood or entered the room. She couldn't possibly imagine Dumbledore expecting his students to do that for him. She was sure the Slytherins would refuse flat out.

It wasn't difficult to see Madame Maxime as she towered over everyone else. "One quick announcement before we dine, my dears," she said in French. "Tonight we welcome our Hogwarts Ambassadors, Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger, and wish them a lovely stay with us. We will be having our first dance of the year next week to commemorate our relations with Hogwarts. Let us show our friends true French hospitality!" With that being said, everyone lifted their glasses and with thousands of chinking sounds filling the hall, the silver plates then filled with - to Hermione's surprise - English food!

The remainder of the night was spent eating, laughing merrily, meeting students from various countries, and happily, very happily, not in the company of Draco Malfoy. Hermione felt as though she were on a cloud (although that might have just been the wine, when she reflected on it) and sunk into her bed fully clothed. That night, she would fall asleep without even having a book in hand.

A/N: Not much happened this chapter, huh? I mainly just wanted to introduce Beauxbatons. Next chapter though is my favorite so far - it has to do with me realizing how cool Madame Maxime is. Hope you enjoyed!


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five - A Very Bloody Dinner

The next day, Hermione's Beauxbatons uniform lay crumpled on the floor. She was officially reverting back to her black skirt, tights, buttoned shirt and Gryffindor sweater vest. There was an uneasy feeling in her stomach as she reflected about the previous night that Malfoy had seemed a _touch_ too civil. She did leave her sweeping black robes in her trunk however, because France was considerably warmer than Scotland. A wave of flurried excitement coursed through her - it was a Sunday, the light shining into her room in what looked like floating orange crystals. It was the perfect day to explore the grounds of the school.

Malfoy was nowhere to be seen, for which Hermione was immensely thankful. She suspected he was waiting for the chance to dash into her bathroom while she was gone, though by now she certainly hoped he had brought the issue to Maxime's attention. As she exited the common room, she nearly ran into - _Fleur_? No, it wasn't Fleur, Hermione deducted. Rather, it was petite-Fleur. Gabrielle Delacour. She was beaming at Hermione with perfect pearly teeth that would have made Hermione's dentist parents' hearts soar.

"Um, hello," said Hermione in French, unsure of what the girl - who was probably a fourth year by now - was doing outside the Ambassador Chambers.

"Madame Maxine has asked me to show you around the school!" Gabrielle chimed. "Is Monsieur Malfoy around?" She looked around Hermione toward the door.

"Er, I don't know, I can go check?" she asked reluctantly. The idea of confronting a tired Malfoy early in the morning seemed rather like trying to poke a sleeping bear. And, while Hermione was grateful for the French girl's assistance, Hermione often liked to figure things out for herself, layouts of chateaus included. However, there was something Ginny-esque radiating from the young Delacour that was appealing to be around, so Hermione turned back around into the Ambassador Chambers once again to find the Slytherin boy.

She first checked her bathroom - at least he would be awake if he were there, and she wouldn't have to prepare for that nasty business. But no, the glorious room was empty, so with a nervous gulp and a lot of courage, Hermione marched over to his bedroom. Out of the corner of her eye, Gabrielle was peering curiously into the common room.

"You can come in, if you'd like," offered Hermione, pausing with her knuckles to Malfoy's door. Gabrielle grinned and darted inside.

"It's very cozy!" And the next moment the small girl was engulfed deeply in a squashy armchair.

Hermione turned back to the business at hand. Knocking smartly on the door, she waiting for a reply. Nothing, just silence. Another knock, louder. Still no answer.

"Malfoy!" she shouted. "Wake up, we've got a tour of the chateau to go through!"

No answer. Twisting the handle angrily, now no longer concerned with Malfoy's morning nastiness, Hermione became even more irritated. Locked. As if he thought she would try to come into his bedroom willingly? Oh Merlin's beard - Hermione had a sudden revelation. Wand up to the handle of the oak door, Hermione prepared to use _alohomora_ , desperately praying to find Malfoy clothed and alone. She, after all, came up from dinner far earlier than he had, and she had the revolting thought that he might have brought company.

The anxiousness didn't leave her stomach until she finally swung up the door to see Malfoy, draped in white sheets, by himself. Oh thank goodness.

"Malfoy!" Hermione snapped. "Goodness, how do boys sleep like this? Get up!" Malfoy was laying face down, and every time a word escaped Hermione's mouth, he pulled his pillow tighter and tighter over his ears. She turned back to the common room, exasperated, only to see Gabrielle had bounced over to Malfoy's doorway and was mouthing at Hermione to "shake him!".

 _Well_ , thought Hermione, _if I've slapped him before, I suppose I can shake him._

His skin was very warm, she reflected as she grabbed his arm, trying not to think too long about who the arm was attached to. However, Hermione didn't even have to shake him because -

"ALRIGHT ALRIGHT I'M UP! No need to touch me, Mudblood!"

Draco had had a very long night, and the pain in his head (which was intensified by Granger's presence) made him aware of just how much wine he had drank, exactly. It had all be very jovial eight hours ago, when he and a drunken Genoveva (at least, he thought that was the Portuguese girl's name) tromped around the gardens, perhaps a bit too close together to be considered innocent. But Beauxbatons had always allowed students to drink - Hogwarts, never. He was embarrassed to admit his tolerance for alcohol was probably as low as Granger's. All this came to light when the sound of a younger girl giggling felt like splinters digging into his brain.

"He's very rude, isn't he? You shouldn't let him talk to you like that," came a voice that matched the giggles. "I can hex him if you'd like!"

"No, that's alright. Thanks though, Gabrielle."

Draco scowled, standing up from his bed suddenly. Granger, who had been previously standing there, stumbled backwards in surprise. "Granger wouldn't hex me; she much prefers to fight like Muggle barbarians."

"Right, like you've never swung at Harry or at Ron," retorted Granger.

"Of course I have - you could hardly consider it a fair fight to duel with someone who hexes _himself_ half the time." Draco was clearly talking about Weasley's slug malfunction. He was pleased to see Granger redden in indignation.

"Oh, Harry and Ron were great! Why would you want to duel them?" said the younger girl, and Draco finally took the time to acknowledge her. His breath seemed to stop for a moment - Fleur's little sister. Weird Veela half-breeds.

"Great. Even all the way in France, people worship the ground Potter walks on," Draco groaned.

"Malfoy, we've wasted half an hour just trying to wake you, so please, put on a shirt and let's go on this tour. Personally, I'd like to know where my classes are at!" Granger said, fretting, always fretting about school and classes and the dullest topics. The little-Veela seemed to take a liking to the Mudblood though, as she stood by her and nodded in solemn agreement.

"I guess if you want to hang around and watch me get dressed then," he snapped at them, and that seemed to do the trick. Both girls gave a huff and marched out of the room and Draco finally felt as though his brain wasn't trying to rip through his skull.

* * *

It had been a splendid tour, in Hermione's opinion, as Gabrielle knew a surprising amount of little secrets about the chateau - passages you couldn't see, shortcuts you wouldn't suspect, even a way to get onto the roof if you weren't particularly bothered by heights. Malfoy always stood ten feet behind them, sulking and brooding, which made everything that much pleasanter. There was a downside though - she had managed to pry Malfoy's class schedule from his hands, and while she had some classes free from the menace, there were a touch too many with him. She suspected Madame Maxime thought them to be friends, being from the same school. Music, Art, Metaphysics, and Care of Magical Creatures were the classes that they shared, two of which were areas Hermione lacked confidence in. She knew she was a very clever witch for her age, and it didn't take long at all for her to grasp a concept - but when it came to creativity, she became rather inept. If she had to be honest, she wasn't particularly pleased that Malfoy, of all people, would be seeing her struggles.

Gabrielle had just shown them the library (which Hermione was itching to get back to straightaway) when she turned towards her, eyes wide. "I almost forgot to tell you!"

Malfoy became more attentive now. Gabrielle shot him a look. "Not you, you can head off now." His pale eyebrows raised at being addressed in such a manner by such a tiny girl, but he didn't complain about being dismissed. Gabrielle's attentions returned to Hermione. "The Headmistress has invited you to lunch with her today, in the East Garden! Oh, please say you'll go, it's amazing to talk to her alone."

Hermione was certainly curious as to why the Beauxbatons students all had such high praise for Madame Maxime - not that she seemed inept or anything, rather just... A bit frivolous, to put it simply. But she agreed eagerly - it wasn't every day you were sought out individually by the Headmistress of an elite wizarding school.

The East Gardens were smallest of all of them, but by no means less impressive. They sat right on the edge of the lake, which compared to Hogwarts' lake, was calm and very much planned. It would have been though; wizards had created it. "The lake is one of our most powerful defensives against Dark Magic here at Beauxbatons," Madame Maxime was explaining, as she leaned forward in her engorged terrace chair. "Nothing lives in it - it's inhospitable. Do you know why, madamoiselle? Truly, the water isn't really water. It looks like water, and if you touch it, it feels like water. It's actually creatures - hundreds and hundred of creatures, that become formless as water when there is no danger, but take shape when there is an intruder. They engulf the intruder and well - there's a reason we don't swim in this lake. Too much exposure to it rots the skin." Hermione shivered at the thought. "I've never seen them take shape, during all my years here," said Maxime thoughtfully. "Though something in my core tells me I will. I don't pretend to know or particularly care for divination, but I will say this for myself - I have a very good intuition."

Hermione remained silent for a moment, listening to the willow trees around them billow in the breeze. "Does this have anything to do with Durmstrang?" she asked.

Madame Maxime's eyes flickered for a moment. "So Dumbledore has mentioned that to you then? I won't lie... I have received some distressing messages from their Headmaster as of late. I grow more and more worried - it seems like every sign these days points to a dark future. Here at Beauxbatons, we try to focus on the light and the beauty in the world. I rather think all of us - Dumbledore too - are very concerned about this next generation. It seems like half the students these days have relatives who are joined with the Dark forces." Hermione's eyes widened at this, thinking of Malfoy's father. "Of course, I know about Monsieur Malfoy," continued Maxime. "That's one of the reasons Dumbledore was eager to send him here. The boy is on a hard path due to his birth. He will be head of one of the most influential wizarding families the world has ever seen, and at the same time, one of the darkest and most twisted. Dumbledore fears we might be too late - that he is already on his father's path, but... I have yet to see. The further away he is from his family, the better.

"Mademoiselle, perhaps it is time I told you exactly why you're here. Yes, the idea of student ambassadors is lovely. Inter-school relations are important. But you see - none of that matters without hope for the future. Everything I have heard about you says you will hold a large part of the future in the palms of your hands. Dumbledore himself predicts you to become a Headmistress one day, or even, perhaps, a Minister of Magic when you're much older." Hermione gaped at this. Even she didn't have ambitions _that_ high! "But things are only going to grow darker in the world. Our future leaders must be taught how to face these issues. That is why I am going to be teaching you privately, whenever I can. And Monsieur Malfoy, too - I have faith we may change his fate yet. We must have faith - if he stays on such a dark path, he will surely bring half the wizarding world with him. And those odds are in no ones favor." Maxime finished solemnly, leaning back in her chair again, gazing out at the water - no, not water. The pit of formless, toxic creatures?

Hermione was frozen in her chair, mind running at a thousand thoughts per second. Maxime had terrified her - talking of dark, hopeless futures - but she also had thrilled her - had Dumbledore really said those things about her? - and private lessons from one of the best witches of the era - Hermione couldn't fathom what she would be learning. And yet, despite it all, when she thought of all these hopes placed on her shoulders, as just a young, Muggle-born girl, new to this entire world, she had a sinking feeling that she would let everyone down. This feeling, more than any of the others, stayed rooted in her core.

"Do I really hold so much significance?" asked Hermione, in hardly more than a whisper. Madame Maxime seemed surprised.

"But of course you do, my dear!" Maxime rested a large hand on top of Hermione's. "Listen to me, child. Some people are placed in powerful positions. Monsieur Malfoy was born into the wealthiest family in Great Britain. Your friend, Harry Potter, only became the Chosen One because of the actions of his mother. But you, my child, and me too, for that matter, have dug out our own greatness, with nothing but our hands to do so. Take a look at me - I was viewed as an abomination for so long by the wizarding world. I didn't have a Dumbledore to take pity on me. Yet here I sit. And I'm proud. You could certainly do with a bit more pride, child. And Monsieur Malfoy could do with a touch less."

When Hermione returned to the Ambassador Chambers, she found Malfoy waiting for her, eyes narrowed.

"Feeling special, Granger? What did the great brute-ess have to say to you?"

But Hermione didn't reply with anything; she didn't even so much as cast a glance in his direction. No, she went straight to her bed chambers, sat on her bed, and cried for a very long time.

It was the first time ever that Hermione Granger truly felt her own self-worth.

* * *

Draco had pressed his ear to the door and was startled to hear soft weeping, of all things. Had Maxime truly been that awful? Or had Granger just made a fool of herself? Either way, Draco pulled away from the door, frowning. It didn't matter who you were, listening to a girl cry wasn't very enjoyable. Even if said girl was a dirty Mudblood. It was lucky he had removed himself from her door when he did, because moments later it was flung open to reveal a very blotchy-faced Granger. He decided to ignore her by inspecting the book shelf in the common room, which contained all of their textbooks, provided by Beauxbatons.

"Mal... Um, Draco?"

He froze. Had she... Just called him by his first name? He didn't know whether to shout at her or be concerned for her sanity. The girl could obviously tell he wasn't happy about what she had just said, so she moved on quickly. "Madame Maxime requested you join her for dinner tonight. In her office."

Before he could turn around to reply, Granger had strode over to the fireplace, clumsily opened the jar of Floo powder, and threw it into the fire while calming saying, "Gryffindor common room". He got one last look at her red face before she vanished. He couldn't help but snort. Pathetic. She managed only one whole day without Weasley or Potter. But his self-satisfaction didn't last long. Something like unease was growing in his stomach; something had switched between him and the Mudblood. He felt as he always had about her. She was inferior, she was annoying, and she wasn't worth thinking about, but yet here he was, thinking about her. Because something had changed in how she viewed _him_. He had seen it in her eyes. She had been desperately trying to separate their animosity from him being a human being, just like her. The very idea that the Mudblood was trying to find common ground with him was revolting, and he realized it could only have come forth from her conversation with Madame Maxime. Suddenly, dinner seemed a lot less appealing.

He sighed. He couldn't very well refuse, could he?

* * *

When Draco was ushered into Madame Maxime's extravagant rococo office by a Dutch student, the ginormous chair behind the desk was empty - though the desk was far from empty itself. Silver plate upon silver plate was piled high with French cuisine, the center one carrying an entire roast duck. As strange and magnificent as the sight was, Draco's eyes rested on a great eagle-owl, tittering precariously along the corner of the desk. Around its foot - a small note. Draco, assuming it would be for him, detached it curiously.

 _Excuse me for my lateness. I'm caught up in somewhat of dispute near Lake Geneva - I should be back just in time to have dessert with you. In the meantime - eat to your heart's content and contemplate this: are you more of a defender, or a fighter?_

 _-Madame Maxime_

The note became curiouser and curiouser the more Draco read it. Lake Geneva? All the way in Switzerland? What was the Headmistress doing there? And there was a dispute, too. Something made Draco feel slight panic in reading it. Maybe it was the sloppy handwriting that seemed to uncharacteristic of Madame Maxime's elegance, or perhaps it was that her signature trailed off in foreboding inky streak, like she barely had time to finish it properly. He scowled, upset that he was unable to properly be annoyed at her lateness because of the overwhelming feeling of concern. Of course, any amount of concern felt very overwhelming to the young Malfoy heir.

Too uneasy to eat any of the food, Draco considered the question she left for him. The choice was fairly obvious - he was more of a fighter. It was other people in his life who were more concerned about defending him - his mother, sometimes his father, Crabbe and Goyle. No, what was the point in being a defender if others could do it for you? When it came to fighting, though, he gained a lot more satisfaction. It's what made people listen to him, to be afraid of him, to do whatever he said. That, and money. Look at the Slytherin house - they pretty much worshipped him at this point. Mulling all this over in his mind, Draco felt a surge of annoyance towards the Mudblood - on what grounds did she have to right to call him Draco?

Another half an hour passed and Draco was considering heading down to the dining hall to catch Genoveva before she left to her dormitories. Now she had been great, a Pureblood Portuguese student from a wealthy family, not to mention-

 _SNAP_.

Draco jumped from his seat as the floor shook and a large, brightly colored figure tumbled into the desk, sending silver platters flying onto the floor and food spewing into the air.

Madame Maxime was desperately trying to hold herself up with the desk, but was failing. It wasn't hard to see why. Draco took a leap back as specks of blood from the Headmistress' nose, hands, and side flickered at him in the commotion. The half-giantess struggled to reach her chair, slumping into it with a grimace of extreme pain. The Headmistress of Beauxbatons was gravely wounded. Draco realized with growing dread that he had no experience in healing, and found himself wishing that Granger would burst in suddenly to help. But the longer he watched Madame Maxime bleed surrounded by overturned platters and piles of food, he knew he was alone. Alone and way out of his element.

Madame Maxime, however, had managed to Apparate in such a condition, so gathering what little strength she had left, she raised the less bloody of her two arms and pointed at a white and gold cabinet in the corner. "Potion," she rasped.

Draco wasted no time in flinging the cabinet door open, so that the multitudes of glass vials filled with different color liquids of varying viscosity shook horribly. Pushing them aside in panic, Draco's hand finally landed on a small, lilac colored drink labeled "Emergency Healing". He was saved from having the life of the Beauxbatons Headmistress on his hands. As soon as the liquid entered the giantess' mouth (of which Draco had to stand on tiptoe to reach), the blossoms of crimson blood in her pale yellow robes dissolved. She sat for a moment in shock before straightening herself, and with a casual flick of her hand, the disorder of the room and its mess sorted itself back into place. Draco still stood next to her chair, eyes wide and mouth hanging open.

"Thank you, mon chéri, for your quick action," said Maxime slowly, as if she was very carefully considering her words. Draco gaped; how could someone revert back to such calmness after almost bleeding out? "Bloody Karkaroff! Brûle en enfer!" cursed the giantess so suddenly that that Draco jumped.

"What the bloody hell happened?" He momentarily would forget his courtesies towards the large French woman, as a well of questions seemed to building inside him.

"Karkaroff got too close to Beauxbatons. He still doesn't know where it is, but the man is on the right path," said Madame Maxime angrily. "He's going to do something foolish. Foolish men do foolish things. They fight without planning and they sneak around like cowards!" Yes, anger was coursing through her, and it was very obvious. Draco decided to take a step back, especially when he considered what friendly terms his father and Karkaroff, Headmaster of Durmstrang, were on.

"Monsieur Malfoy," snapped the Headmistress, shifting her enormous weight to face him. Her brown eyes suddenly seemed very cold as they stared fiercely into his. "I planned to have an easy, relaxed conversation with you tonight, but this is no longer an option. You will have to forgive my bluntness. You are heir to the Malfoy name, a name that means a great many of things in the wizarding world. You will have power, even more than you already have, and you will have influence. This is why you are at Beauxbatons. You will be taught things you couldn't be taught elsewhere. You will have responsibilities you won't have ever had before. Do you understand? You must be prepared to take over your position properly when the time comes. I could not bear it if the next generation ended up leading like it is being led today. Violent men as Headmasters. Idiots as Ministers. May they all burn in hell! We need strong leaders. Like it or not, you are going to be one if I have to beat it out of you. So have you decided? Are you going to be a defender, or a fighter?"

At the end of the night, as Draco was heading back to his rooms, very much shaken by the turn things had taken, he realized - he had answered Madame Maxime wrong.

He wasn't supposed to be a fighter.

He wasn't supposed to be a defender, either.

He was supposed to be both.

* * *

Hermione, Harry, and Ron had just gotten comfortable in the Ambassador Chambers common room when the door flew open to reveal a frantic, hassled, and slightly blood-covered Malfoy.

"What happened?" cried Hermione, jumping from her seat.

Malfoy's cold grey eyes landed on her, but they seemed unusually void of contempt and rather... Empty. Hermione felt a wave of unease hit her as Malfoy, pretending like she hadn't asked a question, stalked towards his room.

"Oi! She asked you a question!" Ron shouted, though Hermione shot him a look to shut up. It went over his head. "Learn a little courtesy, Malfoy!"

The Slytherin turned, and Hermione almost felt relieved to see his eyes full of contempt again. At least that was normal, though it didn't account for the condition of his robes.

"Maybe Granger here ought to learn courtesy - it's none of her goddamn business what happened, and I do wish she would keep her filthy Mudblood nose out of my affairs," spat Malfoy so venomously that even Hermione was taken aback. She snapped out of it when she realized Ron was lunging for Malfoy's throat, and both Harry and Malfoy were reaching for their wands.

"Expelliarmus!" yelled Hermione. Malfoy and Harry had wild expressions as their wands flew from their hands, and Hermione jumped in between Ron and Malfoy, bracing for impact. "Can't you just go to your room?" she pleaded with Malfoy.

He scowled at her as she grappled with Ron. "Gladly."

With that, he was gone.

"Hermione," said Harry slowly. "Your living situation..."

"Don't say anything," said Hermione quickly. "It's manageable, I promise, Madame Maxime said-"

"I reckon Madame Maxime is off her rocker," said Ron wisely. "I mean, Dumbledore's great and all, but sometimes he's not all there, is he? Could be a headmaster thing."

"Malfoy's got blood on him, Hermione," said Harry, looking extremely concerned.

"Harry's right, Malfoy could've just got done torturing some poor French first year for all we know!" Ron chimed in.

"You're being ridiculous!" Hermione cried. "He's a horrible little git, but he's not evil!" At that exact moment, Malfoy reappeared from his room and, without looking at any one of them, marched straight to Hermione's room and slammed the door behind him. Harry and Ron stood gaping while Hermione turned bright red. This had been the one detail she had dearly hoped wouldn't come up.

"Right, I forgot to mention - the bathroom situation... We, uh, only have just the one."

"You have _got_ to be kidding me."

 **A/N: This chapter became way more serious than I thought it would be! Even still, I loved writing it. I love Madame Maxime! Next chapter will be more fluff and less bloody, I promise.**

 **Also, thank you for all your reviews and support! It's so encouraging to hear people are enjoying this story and it makes me want to work even harder to keep it good!**


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six - Persephone

It was Monday morning and Hermione Granger had arrived at her music class fifteen minutes early to meet her professor. Madame Ruys was a relatively young professor, in her thirties, with a tall stature and impeccable posture. Her French was riddled with a heavy Dutch accent that made it nearly incomprehensible to the amateur French speaker.

"What sort of instrument will we be starting off with?" asked Hermione curiously, eager to learn. Despite it being a music class, and Hermione having little to no musical skills, the mere fact that it was the first class she would be taking at Beauxbatons thrilled her.

"Oh! We won't be starting with instruments quite yet. No, every year we brush up and refine our ballroom dancing - the French love their balls," Madame Ruys explained in convoluted French, leaving Hermione to figure out what exactly had been said. She would've taken a seat front and center, if there were seats to be taken. The whole room had been cleared to accommodate the soon-to-be-dancing students who were filing in now. With each student who came into the room, Hermione gained a heightened sense of anxiety. Malfoy would be in this class with her, and after last night and the conversation she had yesterday with Madame Maxime, she felt rather one too many feelings about Malfoy than she would've liked. It would be quite preferable to go back to solely hating him, and only bumping into him once a week in potions class, but now the ferret boy lived thirty feet across from her, insulted her every chance he got, and even still, Madame Maxime had said their teamwork was vital. Malfoy needed to be helped onto a different path. How was Hermione supposed to help him onto that path when every conversation with him was a screaming match?

But music class began with a sharp rap on the wall from Madame Ruys, and the white-blond haired Slytherin was nowhere to be seen. Hermione glanced around the room, examining who all would be in her class. The music room was lined with Beauxbatons seventh years, all dressed in their blue satin and silks. Attending Beauxbatons brought Hermione a new perspective. When a dozen of their students had come to Hogwarts three years ago, for the Triwizard Tournament, they had seemed to carry an air of elitism. Now, Hermione could see that that dozen had been sort of like the group Malfoy managed to join - a group of students from wealthy, entitled wizarding families across Europe. It somewhat satisfied her to know that Malfoy was only in their elite circle as he represented Britain's most influential family, not for his repulsive personality. As for the rest of the student body, well, they were very much like Hogwarts' student body, except for their uniforms and speaking French.

Madame Ruys had been gliding about the room, grabbing students left and right and throwing them into pairs at what seemed to be random. She strode over to Hermione, a look of contemplation passing over her face.

"Oh dear, I had hoped Meneer Malfoy would have arrived by now. Where has that boy gone? Honestly, he's ruining my plans - he's supposed to be your dance partner!" Madame Ruys exclaimed, exasperated. Suddenly her iron grip was on Hermione's arm, who was at that moment flooded with gratitude to Malfoy for neglecting his educational duties. She was quickly dragged over the front of the classroom.

"Odd number of students now," explained Ruys, clearly annoyed. "I'll be your partner until Meneer Malfoy shows up. Maybe this is for the best - easier for me to demonstrate with a partner." It was clear on Madame Ruys' face that she did not believe this to be for the best, and truthfully Hermione wondered about it herself. Her dance skills had been severely neglected since fourth year and even then, they had been minimal.

"Alright students, listen up! Get into position - ladies, right hand in their left, left hand rest on the shoulder. Gentlemen, right hand on their backs - on her _back_ , Meneer Delacroix, no lower!" At this moment, Madame Ruys pulled Hermione into position, who was feeling rather overwhelmed with the whole situation. The professor momentarily extracted her left hand to flick it towards an old record player, which immediately blasted out waltz music. It was also at that moment that the door opened and a silver-blond boy tried to sneak into class without being seen.

Madame Ruys, however, had eyes like a hawk, and suddenly Hermione was once again being forcefully dragged across the room. This time, she was shoved at Malfoy. His grey eyes widened in panic as the girl came hurtling towards him, ready to either dive aside or catch her. Fortunately for both of them, Hermione managed to catch herself inches away.

"Christ, Granger, get ahold of yourself!" Malfoy blurted, straightening his robes in an affronted way.

"Well I didn't very well try to plummet towards you, did I?" Hermione had a feeling Madame Ruys didn't know that her arms were considerably larger than that of an average female.

"This is wonderful! I imagine you got lost, did you? Beauxbatons is rather large, no one could blame you," Madame Ruys said cheerfully to Malfoy, who was looking rather guilty. Hermione had a feeling he had been late for other reasons. "As you two know," continued Ruys, "we will be having a ball this weekend, hosting your friends from Hogwarts! It really is important that you two showed up today. I mean, how will you open the dance if you haven't even had time to create good chemistry?"

Hermione felt she could've thrown up.

Draco felt he might kill either one of the women standing in front of him.

"What?" he said dully. "I have to dance with _her_? In front of _people_?"

Madame Ruys didn't seem to catch his tone, or the fact that Hermione was now sitting on the floor, her head in hands. "Oh Merlin's beard," she groaned.

"I'm not going to open the dance with her," Malfoy said coldly to Madame Ruys. "I have a date with someone I actually can tolerate. Sorry."

Madame Ruys' countenance changed to a piercing glare. "It's Madame Maxime's wish, so it's going to have to happen. I could care less what you two think of each other, or who your dates are. Just one dance together and you can go off with whoever you'd like." She walked away, shaking her head and saying something in Dutch under her breath, leaving Malfoy and Hermione alone and very distraught.

Hermione climbed up from her place on the floor. "Maybe if we don't dance, she won't notice."

Malfoy just nodded sullenly.

This plan worked, for all of two minutes. After these glorious moments, the waltz music came to abrupt stop and everyone who was dancing pulled apart, looking expectantly at Madame Ruys.

"Right - Granger, Malfoy, to the front of the class please!" Madame Ruys called. Her cheerful countenance had returned. "You'll be demonstrating for the class."

There was nothing to be done, Draco realized with a heavy heart. This was it. This is how he would leave this world - touching a Mudblood while a huge Dutch woman assaulted them. At the front of the class, Ruys beamed at them.

"I presume you know how to dance, Meneer Malfoy?" said Ruys.

"Yes." Of course he knew how to ballroom dance. He came from one of the noblest wizarding families of all time. Malfoy Manor was practically known for the balls they held - well, that and the unspeakable amount of fascinating Dark artifacts hidden about the place.

"And you, Juffrouw Granger?"

At this, the Mudblood seemed to stiffen. "Well - no, I don't have much experience." Draco had to smirk. For once, Granger wouldn't be shoving her infinite knowledge all over the place. He was better than her in this class, easily. Now that he thought about it, it only made sense. The girl didn't have a creative bone in her body! She called her self-righteous house-elf organization _S.P.E.W._ for crying out loud.

The old record player started up again, blaring ancient, unrecognizable jazz music. Madame Ruys pushed the two closer to each other (notably gentler this time) and it was an awkward moment of glaring before Granger tentatively placed her right hand softly on his left shoulder. All of his Pureblood instincts told him to tear away from her, but this was impossible. The entire class stared at him, as did Ruys. This happened to be one of the very few times attention was irritating. There was nothing to be done.

He snatched up Granger's left hand, determined not to think about whose hand it was, exactly. Merlin's beard, if his father saw him now, he would be back in Hogwarts before you could say 'wait!'. His other hand circled around her to lay on her back.

They both avoided eye contact as their feet began to move with the music. It was obvious that Granger was concentrating like her life depending on not stepping on his feet. Her face was beet red the moments that Draco did quickly glance at her, and he could feel her right hand becoming clammy in his left. Or was it his hand getting clammy? He couldn't tell anymore.

Madame Ruys let out a laugh that made heat rush to Draco's face. He did not appreciate being laughed at, especially not by this lady. "The English dance so stiffly!" Out of the corner of his eye, and before he could do anything to stop her, the Dutch woman flicked a wandless hand at the two of them, sending them crashing closer to each other. Granger let out a sharp gasp that brought even more heat to Draco's pale face.

"Fine," mutter Draco. "She wants to see how the English dance, let's show her."

Granger looked terrified. But it was too late. Draco had drawn her close and blocked out everything around him - the horrible professor, the onlooking students, even the bloody room. Nothing but him and the music. And a girl who he was desperately trying to pretend was Genoveva. Maybe even Pansy, for that matter.

Hermione was shocked as something seemed to have switched in Malfoy's head. She suddenly wasn't having to think about where to move her feet - Malfoy's led her wherever they needed to be. They swept around the room, spinning and turning and _oh goodness_ , it was all going too fast for her mind to catch up with. This is exactly why she hadn't wanted to have a music class with Malfoy! The moment the shock wore off, she became acutely aware of how close this boy was, a boy she had hated ever since she was eleven years old. And now his arm was around her, his hand in hers.

She blanched to imagine what Harry and Ron would say. And inevitably they would see her like this, at the upcoming ball. Oh Merlin's beard.

The exact second the song ended, Malfoy pushed her away from him, and was glaring at Madame Ruys. Madame Ruys, however, did not mind Malfoy's attempt to 'put her in her place' - her face broke out into a huge grin. "Wonderful!" she applauded. "Now that I know you two won't embarrass me in front of Madame Maxime - well, everyone! Back in position! Oh and Meneer? Juffrouw? You may be excused for the rest of this class. I'm very pleased indeed!"

"That was a nightmare," said Hermione as they exited as quickly as their legs would allow them. "An absolute nightmare of a class."

"Well, you can save your thanks for later, Granger," said Malfoy bitterly. "We've still one hell of a nightmare ball to get through."

The unlikely pair walked side by side down the corridor for a length in silence. "Are you disgusted you'll have to dance with a Muggle-born?" asked Hermione, unsure of why she was bringing this up. She was just giving him the opportunity to call her foul names.

"A little," said Malfoy. "As long as you don't look like a troll, I probably won't curse you. And it will be a touch satisfying to see Potty and the Weasel's expressions when they see you on my arm."

"I won't be hanging off your arm, Malfoy," replied Hermione, rolling her eyes. "I know you must expect it after seven years of Pansy."

"Let's just get through this bloody dance so I can go back to calling you a Mudblood," said Malfoy. The corridor came to a split and without so much as a glance between the two, Hermione and Draco parted ways.

The rest of the week became progressively smoother for Hermione. After a few days of practice, her and Malfoy had created some sort of unspoken agreement about morning routines, so that one or the other would be gone from the chambers before the other awoke. This meant no awkward run-ins with the bathroom, for which Hermione was immensely grateful, as she still felt traumatized. Classes were fascinating - in Medical Potions she had learned to brew a mixture that would instantaneously cure severe rashes. In Care for Magical Creatures, they had trekked outside the Beauxbatons school grounds into the Pyrenees mountains to observe and record various common magical creatures native to the area. Malfoy shared this class with her, but thus far it was very individual work and the two never had to speak a word to each other. Charlie Weasley was often present during this period. Metaphysics was a rather challenging class from the beginning, but Hermione caught on quick. Malfoy seemed to fall asleep easily in that class, as did half the other students. She was on great terms with all her professors and had even met some friendly Beauxbatons students to chat with.

The best part of the experience, to Hermione, was how easy it was to visit all her friends at Hogwarts. She didn't really even eat breakfast at Beauxbatons, when she could just zip over to Hogwarts in a moments notice and sit at her favorite place at the Gryffindor table. After dinner, Harry and Ron would often visit Beauxbatons, and Hermione was delighted to show them around. Once or twice, Ginny had tagged along with Harry, and was eager to bring Neville and Luna soon. But the ball was coming up, and the chateau would be bursting with Hogwarts students soon enough.

So the week came and it went, and Hermione and Draco had hardly spoken more than a word to each other in passing since the horrid music lesson. In the days of bliss, Hermione had managed to push the thought of opening the ball with Malfoy completely from her mind. When Saturday came, however, it all came rushing back with a sudden feeling of dread, sinking in her stomach. She was sure the Slytherin had been scheming over the course of the week how to best humiliate her. She had hoped it wasn't so, as Malfoy seemed to want to stay on Maxime's good side, yet she couldn't shake the fact that Malfoy was, well, Malfoy.

"Dumbledore's pretty much ordered we leave our wands in our dormitories," Ginny informed Hermione over breakfast Saturday morning. "But I'll sneak mine in case the ferret tries anything with you."

"I have a hex I've really been wanting to try out!" piped Gabrielle Delacour, who was visiting Hogwarts with Hermione. She loved it there, and Hermione had been right about her and Ginny being similar. After getting past Ginny's reluctance, ("She's a mini- _Fleur_ , for crying out loud!") the two had become fast friends.

"So you've got your dress robes and everything?" inquired Ginny. Hermione gave a nod in reply. They were nothing spectacular, but they would work. "Me and Harry are going together. I think that's why he and Ron are so late for breakfast - Ron's trying to ask Katie Bell last minute, and Harry's being his wingman."

"Ron and Katie, then?" Hermione mused. It was an interesting pairing, but she supposed it could work. Katie had a lot of patience and a level-head, and Ron had humor that Katie could appreciate. It was interesting the way their lives turned out by seventh year. Hermione thought perhaps she might end up with either Ron or Harry by now, yet nothing seriously romantic had clicked with either of them. Nothing seriously romantic clicked with anyone and Hermione, though. Truth be told, it wasn't such a concern to her anyways. Harry and Ginny were a fine match, and Ron - well, he would find someone. She had a secret hope it would be Luna Lovegood.

"I guess I don't technically have a date," Hermione realized. "Unless you count Malfoy, which I'd rather not."

Gabrielle laughed like chimes in the breeze. "You two would have quite the strange tale if you ended up together."

"No kidding," snorted Ginny.

* * *

Draco had about ten minutes before he needed to be down in Beauxbatons own private and expansive ballroom. Unfortunately, he had to wait for Granger. He had been suffering all week to be civil to her for the sake of this dance going smoothly, but he soon found out that for him, being civil was avoiding her completely. Now it left the two of them to awkwardly go down to the ball together, not sure of what to say or what to think.

"Granger!" Draco shouted. "We're going to be late if you take much longer! I know your hair must be a beast to tame, but sometimes you have to know when you're fighting a losing battle!" He was answered with silence.

Another three minutes passed before Granger's door flew open and she came rushing out. Draco stared. He didn't know what he had expected, other than a fleeting image of her in the fourth year at the Yule Ball, but... This was different. She wore a simple, baby pink chiffon dress that flowed all the way to the ground in a light, airy way. It had a simple, modest v-cut neckline and elbow length sleeves. A simple, thin gold necklace hung from her neck and tiny pearl earrings adorned her ears. Her hair was put up in a sort of braided updo that haloed her head, but it still held a vibe of messiness through bits and pieces poking out here and there. Granger looked like a sort of gentle Greek goddess, like Persephone - innocent, beautiful, simple and modest. Draco had a sudden worry about touching her and somehow corrupting this image.

"Are you ready to go?" she asked him, frowning.

"Yes," said Draco, snapping out of his daze. "You took a bloody long time."

"Sorry," said Granger, clearly not very sorry. "I'm not used to having to dress up."

"Of course you wouldn't be," mumbled Draco under his breath. Once again, she reminded him how utterly uncultured she was compared to him. They left their common room together, and Hermione kept her word of not hanging off his arm. She felt very curious as to how so many Hogwarts students would be arriving - she supposed it was possible to all go through the Floo network, but surely it would get clogged with all the activity. She tried to dismiss this thought to instead focus on counter-curses should Malfoy choose to be himself tonight. She hadn't been called Mudblood in a week and she was growing more and more suspicious.

When they had reached the ballroom, there seemed to be a sort of commotion in the gardens outside. Finely dressed Beauxbatons students were rushing out the doors to see something that wasn't visible from where Hermione and Malfoy stood. Malfoy raised his eyebrow and without so much as a look at Hermione he joined the crowd outside. She hurried to follow.

Off in the distance, where the school grounds ended and trees loomed heavily over the border, there came an almost blinding light and a loud whistle that reminded Hermione strangely of the Hogwarts Express. Then something incredible happened - it was as if the forest was made of a fabric that had just been ripped in the middle. In the space where it had opened, Hermione could see grounds like looked awfully like Hogwarts' and in the background, a looming gothic castle that she knew so well. Through this tear in space, a bright fire-engine-red train was heading towards Beauxbatons. Tracks spread out before it, as if out of nowhere, and the train came to a halt once its entirety made it through the rip in space. Hermione could hear Beauxbatons students whispering to each other curiously, but she ducked through the crowd towards the train where Madame Maxime and other professors waited to greet their guests. First out was Professor Dumbledore, smiling and cheery as ever. He greeted Madame Maxime and the others warmly, receiving and giving kisses on the cheek.

"Miss Granger," he said, eyes twinkling upon seeing her. Hermione was elated - as amazing as Madame Maxime was proving to be, no headmaster could replace Dumbledore. "I hope you're doing well here in France."

"It's wonderful," she said quickly. "I miss Hogwarts, but I've learned so many things here that, well, I think I'll stay for now."

"I'm glad to hear it. Now where is Mister Malfoy?"

"I suspect he's with his date, sir," replied Hermione.

Dumbledore looked at her curiously. "From what I heard from Madame Maxime, I rather believed you were his date. Are you not opening the dance together?"

At this, Hermione flushed red, but there was no time to answer, as a parade of Hogwarts students flowed out of the train, being very boisterous in their excitement to be in France. Immediately she was engulfed by her friends - Harry with Ginny, Ron surprisingly with Katie, Luna, Neville, Dean and Seamus. She temporarily forgot about Malfoy as she led everyone up to the chateau, marveling at how nice everyone looked. They certainly had come a long way since first year at Hogwarts.

The ballroom was glimmering in low lighting, candles glinting from chandelier to chandelier and warm music filled the room as Madame Ruys conducted an entire orchestra of instruments to play themselves. Tables were set around the perimeters of the room, where people could choose to dine or relax whenever they'd like. Everyone seemed to be filled with jovial warmth as they greeted each other in weird mixtures of French and English. Hermione even spotted Charlie and led Ron over him to be reunited. He quickly introduced Katie Bell to his second eldest brother, and Hermione slipped away to join Luna, Ginny, and Harry who were currently watching in amusement as Dean and Seamus tried to flirt with two French girls.

It wasn't long before Madame Maxime had gotten everyone attention by gently tapping her glass.

"Welcome, mes amis, welcome all! We 'ope you will 'ave a wonderful time at Beauxbatons tonight, and zat our two schools will become closer zan ever after zis beautiful evening!" While Madame Maxime was making her speech in English, Hermione felt someone grab her hand and tug her away from her friends. It was Gabrielle. She followed with a sinking feeling in her stomach, trying to send a look to Ginny that would remind her to have her back in case of Malfoy hexing her, but the redhead was too caught up in a hushed conversation with Harry to notice. Sure enough, the part-Veela girl was leading her straight towards a vey sullen looking Malfoy near where Madame Maxime and Professor Dumbledore were standing.

"Let's get this over with as quickly as we can," Malfoy muttered. "And I swear, Granger, if you try anything-"

"Relax, I'm not the one with the reputation of trying to hex defenseless people," said Hermione bitingly. She had wanted to be on civil terms with Malfoy for Maxime's sake, but her nerves had gotten the better of her. Malfoy scowled at her, and then in the next moment, the two were being pushed gently towards the dance floor as music started from Ruys' one-woman orchestra.

Hermione tried desperately to block out the faces of her friends looking on by staring at Malfoy. This wasn't necessarily any better, but at least looking at him, he could lead her in dancing more easily. As Draco placed his hand on her waist and took her hand in his, he was determined not to look back at her. He could feel her warm eyes burning into him and with how untouchable Granger looked tonight, he didn't know what he would do if he brought himself to look back at her. He wondered if Madame Ruys was watching them at the moment, because if they had been dancing stiffly the other day, it was nothing compared to how stiffly they were dancing now. Hermione was doing everything not to trip, and Draco was doing everything not to wince as she continued to tread on his toes.

"Fuck it," he whispered to her suddenly, and before she could reply, he lifted her so that she would be standing on his feet. The lighting was low anyways, and Granger's dress so long, surely no one would notice. It was much easier to move like this, and Draco began to glide about the floor more elegantly with Granger only moving when he did. Hermione had broken her eye contact with him, however, and was now staring intently at the floor as they moved about the room. By now, many other couples had joined them on the floor, but Hermione's nervousness still remained. Now she and Malfoy were inches apart, so that she could feel his breath and his every movement. She wasn't someone who usually got worked up about contact with boys, but this was ballroom dancing with Malfoy, and Professor Dumbledore thought she was Malfoy's date.

Draco found he was rather enjoying himself. He felt guilty for it, of course, because she was who she was, but Granger was _close_ , very close, and he enjoyed the feel of her being so near. Her breath tickled his neck and the way she was acting suddenly shy and timid was something he had never seen before. It made him feel pleased that he could get such a reaction out of her, and he wanted to test it further. He tightened his grip around her waist, closing the gap between them, and for the briefest moment, her chocolate brown eyes had flickered up and met his in wide surprise. He almost had been thinking how cute she was (a word he used very sparingly) before those wide brown eyes turned into a piercing glare and Granger wrenched herself away from him.

"So that was it, Malfoy?" she hissed at him. "You've been scheming all week to come up with _that_ to humiliate me? I thought it would've been something more clever, but I think I overestimated you for once!"

 _What the hell was the little Mudblood saying?_ "What the hell are you saying, Mudblood? Sure, I wanted to get a rise out of you, but if I wanted to humiliate you, then you would be running out of this goddamn room crying," Draco spat out.

"Oh, that's rich, Malfoy," said Hermione in growing anger. "We got the bloody dance over with, so now I really don't have to put up with your egotistical big-head self!" And with that, Hermione strode off the dance floor to somewhere far, far from Draco Malfoy.


	7. Chapter Seven

**A/N: Hello! I'm excited about this chapter because I like the way the non-romantic plot of this story is developing, as I didn't really have a good one when I started.**

 **Thank you for the reviews that I've gotten that have been constructive and polite and encouraging, it means a ton.**

Chapter Seven - Late Nights, Early Mornings

Two weeks had passed since Draco had arrived at Beauxbatons, and after the series of mishaps with Granger, things were finally beginning to fall back into place. Classes were going as smoothly as expected. He didn't feel the need to exert so much energy into studying and taking notes, but Draco naturally kept relatively high notes in all his classes. He was just returning the chateau after Care of Magical Creatures (they had studied the Portuguese Long-Snout from afar) when an owl swooped down close to him, releasing a small envelope into his hands. Curiously, he tore it open.

 _Monsieur Malfoy, I apologize for the lack of communication lately. However, I have been making preparations over the past week and I believe that we are ready for you and Mademoiselle Granger to begin your private sessions with me and other trainers. To begin with, I would like for you to join me in the front hall at midnight tonight._

 _Regards, Madame Maxime_

The note left a lot unsaid, Draco reflected. For instance, was he expected to have sessions with the Mudblood, too? He certainly didn't want _that_. And why was this going to begin so late at night? The entire situation seemed rather like a mystery that Maxime was trying to conceal from him, and as irritated as he was to be left out of the loop, he couldn't deny his curiosity.

It was an unusual thing to see Draco Malfoy enter the dining hall for lunch and take a seat by himself. He usually was filled with discomfort from being alone, a touch paranoid truthfully. He enjoyed the security of people who were rich and powerful, or perhaps built to fight, and without them the Slytherin usually felt extremely vulnerable. Lately, however, he was feeling quite irritated with everyone. He had made Pansy Parkinson cry at the ball because he had refused to dance with her. He hadn't spoken to Crabbe or Goyle since arriving at the chateau weeks ago. Even the circle of rich Beauxbatons students he had become accepted into seemed trivial. None of these people surrounding him were destined for anything spectacular, other than having vaults full of gold to waste on dinner parties or bribing Ministry officials. Yet here he was, singled out by both Dumbledore and Madame Maxime, supported by his father, one of the most powerful men in the entire wizarding world, and even though Draco was still in school, people were beginning to see his importance and were desperate to stay on his good side. The empire that the Malfoys had built up, Draco was to inherit.

It was now that he was in his final year of school that Draco felt the full weight of his responsibilities, and last night as he lay awake in bed, he had decided to put everything that would hold him back to the side. This include his so-called friends and even acknowledging Potter, Weasley or Granger. He wasn't about to waste any more of his time to get a rise out of them. He could see Granger now, from his isolated table, as she just took a seat next to Charlie Weasley and Gabrielle Delacour. He was irritated by even the sight of her after the whole debacle of the ball. He hadn't exactly been thinking clearly that night and... No, he didn't have to justify himself. It wasn't worth his time.

Tearing his eyes away from the dining hall before him, Draco pulled out a black, sleek, leather bound log imprinted with the golden crest of the Malfoy family. This year, his father had given him an assignment - to finally learn the rules of the trade. This meant learning how the manor was run, the expenses, all the precious artifacts and how to preserve them, the ones to avoid touching due to curses, the names of "friends" of the Malfoy household and their darkest secrets, which had been dug out over centuries of spying. Draco's trunk was filled to the brim with logs, journals, genealogy books, and even a couple Dark artifacts that Lucius didn't feel were particularly safe under the watchful eye of the Ministry. No, there was really no way for Draco to ignore his duty any longer. His time for child's play was over.

 _"Remember Draco, I do not want to be disappointed when I see you next," his father had said to him with a stern, cold look. "If you're to be allowed any sort of freedom, you need to prove you can handle yourself."_

 _"He's made us proud so far, Lucius," said Draco's mother, looking quickly back and forth between the two of them. Lucius' emotionless eyes never so much as flickered towards his wife._

 _"He's made you proud, maybe. To me, I see a boy who can't do anything without the help of others. I hear reports, Draco, that you make threats to those who sully our name when Crabbe or Goyle are around, but the moment they're gone, do you carry through with them?" Lucius hissed. "You're too comfortable, too sheltered. This year, I will make sure you learn. You will not embarrass our family."_

"Can I join you?" A pleasant voice snapped Draco from his thoughts and he looked up, startled. A tan, dark haired girl flashed a charming smile at him - Genoveva.

"I was just leaving," said Draco coldly, pushing his log back into his bag and rising from his seat. As he strode away, he could only imagine her expression. It certainly wasn't the way to make friends, but the voice of his father was ringing in his head louder and louder and he needed to escape.

* * *

He had skipped Advanced Herbology. He had also skipped Medical Potions. Not only that, but he had skipped Defense Against the Dark Arts as well. The sun had come and gone as he laid out on his back, far, far from the chateau. The birch trees he was surrounded by swayed peacefully in the breeze, but a feeling of apprehension still was floating in the air above him. Draco Malfoy was not feeling himself, not one bit.

 _I'll lay here until it's time to meet Madame Maxime,_ thought Draco, lazily checking his golden watch. The moments were far and few between when Draco felt like ridding himself of all the wealth he had and would have, and this was one of them. What was so wrong about living in a tent and drifting from place to place, with nothing to hold you down? But deep down, Draco knew what was wrong with it - it was everything that his father would disapprove of, second only to him marrying a Mudblood or a Muggle.

Voices arose in the background, loud and rowdy and a mixture of English and French. Draco forced himself onto his elbows so he could see the silhouettes of eight figures tromping through the dark towards the south gardens, which were more or less open fields. It was too dark and too far to tell who was who, but he suspected Charlie Weasley and some of his dragon-handling crew were included. The golden watch on his wrist showed it was a quarter to midnight. Perhaps Draco would've found it odd that the figures were suddenly casting flying, sparking spells at each other when they reached the open fields, but his mind was too weighed down. Regardless, it was time to find Maxime.

She was dressed rather simply when he showed up, in simple black satin robes that made her look a bit less freakish than usual. Or so Draco was thinking, until she stood and towered over him, reminding him that she was anything but normal.

"Do you have your wand on you?" she asked. Her tone of formality seemed to have dropped and her voice was low and serious. He raised his most prized possession - a wand of ten inches, hawthorne, and unicorn hair core. It had served him well, and sometimes Draco felt as though it responded to his emotions. When he cast a spell out of anger, the wand seemed to surge with energy. When he felt melancholy, the wand seemed to only ooze out magic like a clogged pipe. Madame Maxime nodded approvingly at the wand before handing Draco a heavy leather bag that made a cacophony of glass chinking sounds as it sunk into his arms.

"What's this?" he asked, trying to get a feel for it.

"Healing potions," replied Madame Maxime nonchalantly. He shot her a look that must've been alarmed, because she added, "They probably won't be needed. Probably."

She pushed open the door into the inky black night, but it was a clear night, and the grounds were glowing and illuminated in unfiltered, pure starlight. Draco followed her path closely, feeling a serenity in the silence that he didn't dare break, nor did she. The grass rustled lightly underfoot. The trees whispered to each other in the breeze. Draco felt his stomach turn in excitement suddenly, the sort of feeling you only get when you're out at night, in complete darkness, in complete silence. His former worries drained from his mind and he was filled with a wakefulness he hadn't felt in years.

It wasn't too long before flashing, multicolor lights became visible around the back of the chateau, and the figures Draco had spotted earlier became larger and larger as they approached. They were dueling. He looked at Madame Maxime, to see her reaction, but her expression was unreadable.

"You told me you are more of a fighter," she said quietly. "So we will begin with what you are good at, to refine it. Every other night, I would like you to meet at the south gardens at midnight with a man named Proudfoot. He is an Auror, from your own British Ministry of Magic. I will, of course, be here to speculate and offer assistance when it is needed."

Draco wondered what his father's reaction would look like if he knew his son was being trained under an Auror. He certainly hadn't liked hearing Mad-Eyed Moody was his professor during the fourth year.

"To start off with, Mademoiselle Granger will not be here during any of your sessions. Hers are currently defense-oriented and at the crack of dawn. That being said," Maxime said, casting him a pointed look, "you two will have to learn to work together, sooner rather than later. I have some assignments for the both of you and I do not tolerate failure because two people refuse work together."

Draco continued to remain silent. He didn't suspect that Maxime was in much of an arguing mood right about now. He stared straight ahead as one of the dark silhouettes extracted themselves from the group and headed over to where he and Maxime stood. The man was shockingly average looking for an Auror, especially when Draco automatically thought of Moody upon hearing the word. He was an average height, looked to be around thirty, with dusty brown hair that seemed to be thinning slightly and cheerful but tired looking blue eyes. This was the Auror Proudfoot.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Draco," he said casually, extending a friendly hand. Draco hesitantly shook it, wondering if Proudfoot even knew the sort of Dark magic he was storing under his bed at the moment. But the man turned towards the six dueling pairs, smiling. "We'll start off with some face-to-face light dueling - the most you'll get is a bruise, so don't worry too much about all that," he said, casting a glance at the bag of potions. "Of course, eventually we will need to get into offensive spells, and things might get a bit bloodier. After that, well... Let's talk about that when it comes, shall we? I'd like to begin tonight."

Proudfoot led him to an open space away from the others, and Madame Maxime had taken seat a ways off underneath a rather familiar bunch of birch trees. Draco faced the Auror, who stood twenty feet away, wand raised though a smile stayed on his face.

"Most important first step is stance, of course," said Proudfoot, as Draco hurried to display what he knew. "There, that's good. Were you in dueling club over at Hogwarts?"

"Yes," replied Draco, feeling suddenly prideful. "I've won three years running now." Which was true, despite the fact that Draco had a sinking feeling if Potter had joined the club, it might not be the case.

"Good, that's good experience to have. Consider these sessions like an Advanced Dueling Club. Tonight, I'd like to see what you already know."

Thus the late night began. Draco displayed spell after spell - Confundus, Expelliarmus, Flipendo, Immobulus, Protego - a flashing of lights, sparks, smoke, an entire spectrum of colors. Proudfoot was an excellent teacher, roaring praise when it was deserved, giving helpful pointers throughout the course of it. True, Draco did have to swallow a bit of pride to allow these pointers to help, but Proudfoot had a way of making it seem like the student was the one catching onto the pattern, not him. Every so often, a spell got to Proudfoot, knocking him from his feet and causing him to howl in laughter, but the majority of the time it was Draco who was feeling grass-burn. He would be feeling considerably agitated at this point, but it was hard to reach that point as his dueling partner was quite possibly the most happy, good-natured man to ever live.

By the end of the session, nearing two in the morning, waves of exhaustion were finally slamming into Draco. He could feel bruises blossoming under his pale skin and was sure his clothes were stained green from all the times he slid in the grass.

"Madame Maxime was right to have you here," said Proudfoot, sitting next to Draco on the ground as he conjured water from his wand into his mouth. "You've got natural talent and the drive for this stuff. It's very important you know, learning these things. Madame Maxime is almost sick with worry lately, feeling like there isn't enough protection at Beauxbatons. I have to agree with her, considering the whole Durmstrang conflict. Karkaroff is pretty keen on taking Beauxbatons - who wouldn't want a major Southern European powerhouse on their side? It's just too bad Karkaroff's on the wrong side," said Proudfoot. "What do you think about all of it?"

Draco chose his words carefully. "I think it's complicated." And that was where he would leave the subject, for now. It was no secret the Malfoy family had interest in Dark artifacts, and more than enough times throughout history, the name Malfoy could be associated with Dark wizards. But Draco didn't think of himself as evil. He didn't think of his family as evil. Yes, they were traditional, they emphasized Pureblood, they emphasized preservation of the wizarding race, and yes, sometimes this meant warring and conflict - but evil? Dark? It all felt rather unjustified to Draco, almost like a personal attack against him, against his family. How could he approve of or tolerate Muggle-borns when they created new link after new link with the Muggle world? Muggles didn't understand magic. And Draco knew enough about Muggles to know they didn't like what they didn't understand. This much was clear through numerous witch burnings. Muggles had even enslaved other Muggles, because of their skin tones being different!

"You're right," agreed Proudfoot after a moment. "It is complicated. Nothing's black and white, is it?"

"No," said Draco quietly. "Not really." Of course, some things were very much, and always would be, black and white.

* * *

Hermione was awake and fully dressed at five in the morning, just three hours after Malfoy had returned to his room and fallen into a deep, much needed sleep. In her hand she clutched the note she had received from Madame Maxime, and in her other hand, her wand. "Lumos," she whispered as she made her way through the dark, empty chateau. The paintings on the wall peered curiously at her, but Hermione had quickly learned it wasn't unusual at all for Beauxbatons students to roam about at night. There was no Filch around here, though the paintings were to take record and report to Madame Maxime if any student displayed inappropriate conduct.

As for Madame Maxime, when Hermione finally reached her, she looked as though she were three nights deprived of sleep. Dark bags hung under her eyes and her usual stick-straight posture was slightly diminished. She greeted Hermione somewhat dully, but Hermione couldn't fault her for this. The worries that must be weighing on her mind lately - she couldn't imagine.

"Tonight it will just be the two of us," said Madame Maxime as she led Hermione through the chateau. They entered an empty classroom, and Madame Maxime waved her hand so that the room was aglow in candle fire. "I want to focus on your protection spells, first, since you classified yourself as defense-oriented. Personal protection must be perfected before one can expect to protect others, or an entire school. I suspect you've already put forth your own time towards learning protection spells. Am I correct?"

Hermione nodded, excited to demonstrate her knowledge to the witch in front of her. "I've learned the basic Anti-Jinx spells, of course, and defensive charms," she began eagerly. "And I think I've read enough about cave inimicum and protego duo to where I could get them down pretty quickly, although the opportunity hasn't really come up-"

"Perfect!" Madame Maxime interrupted. "We can start with protego duo - an extremely useful shield charm, more powerful than protego: it protects you from more powerful spells and from all sides."

It was only moments later that Hermione had perfected the spell, as Madame Maxime attempted to disarm her. After the third time of her wand flying from her hand, Hermione had learned the trick of it. Madame Maxime was visibly impressed as the fourth, fifth, sixth time, each progressively quicker, the young girl kept her grip on her wand, casting the spell so quickly that her hand was a blur.

"Absolutely magnificent!" cried Madame Maxime, who seemed to have gained a restoration of energy. "My dear, I'm sure you could one day use magic without even the help of a wand!"

Such high praise made Hermione glow in happiness, and the praise continued as Hermione demonstrated the other spells and enchantments she had learned. An hour and a half had passed, and Maxime had conjured up a large stack of books detailing even more complicated spells for Hermione to read on her own time, should she be interested. Before she was dismissed, however, the two witches sat together to talk.

"I'm very impressed with both you and Draco," said Maxime happily. "I worried we might have been spending weeks refining what you should already know, but both of your skills are near perfect as they are. This relieves me like you cannot imagine - time is of the essence, and I'm eager to send the two of you, with a group of Aurors present, on a little assignment. I'll give you more information on it later, but you'll be away from Beauxbatons for a little while."

"How long?" Hermione asked, full of concern. She didn't want to fall behind in her classes, but even if the assignment lasted for months, Hermione knew she wouldn't be able to refuse Madame Maxime's request.

"No longer than a week, hopefully no longer than three days if we can help it. It will help give you some real-world application to what you've been learning in school - I often find that students are rarely given that chance until they've completed seventh year, and by then everything is a little foggy." Madame Maxime soon dismissed her and Hermione hurried to her chamber's fireplace, where she quickly tossed in some Floo powder and shouted, "Gryffindor common room!"

When she gracefully tumbled out of the other fireplace, she was greeted by the homey feel of the common room she has spent so many late nights in over the course of six years. Over in the corner was her favorite place to study, and over on that sofa, she and Harry and Ron would often relax and talk about trivial things. It was still early in the morning, so the room was empty. Hermione set up station cozily near the fire and pulled out one of the spell books Madame Maxime had entrusted to her. As she read on the various levels of the spell protego, more Gryffindors began to fill the room, greeting Hermione tiredly. It felt to her as though she hadn't really left. Soon enough, Harry and Ron came down from their dormitories, looking disheveled but grinning lazily to see her.

"Thank Merlin you're here, Hermione," said Ron, landing hard in the seat next to her. "We've got something of an emergency on our hands." Harry nodded in solemn agreement.

Hermione raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Oh?"

"Snape's assigned us a three roll of parchment essay on the properties of centaur hair," Harry explained.

"But that's fascinating!" cried Hermione. Ron and Harry exchanged glances.

"Same old Hermione, that's for sure."

"Listen," said Hermione very seriously. "I need to tell you what's happening at Beauxbatons." In a hushed voice, she explained to her two best friends that Beauxbatons was under threat from Durmstrang, her private session, but when she told them of Malfoy and his role in the matter, neither Ron nor Harry could stay quiet any longer.

"How does Maxime think Malfoy is just going to change his ways? He's been on a path to bring evil since he was born, his parents made sure of that!" Ron exclaimed. "He's probably slipping Karkaroff inside information on the place, for all we know."

"I don't like that you'll be around him so often - you know how he feels about Muggle-borns, what if he tries something?" Harry questioned.

Hermione sighed; it was something she thought long and hard about. "Madame Maxime's teaching me defense - spells and enchantments we haven't learned in Defense Against the Dark Arts. If Malfoy tries anything, I'll be prepared."

"Which would be a relief," said Harry. "If you hadn't just told us that Malfoy was being trained in dueling."

"Please don't worry about me," said Hermione desperately. "Malfoy is just pathetic, and Crabbe and Goyle are miles away. He's not going to do anything."

"Just tell Malfoy that I have a functional wand now, and I've perfected my slug hex," said Ron with a grin.

"I don't think that's exactly intimidating, Ron," said Hermione with a small smile. She was glad to have her friends on her side though, should anything go wrong. Lately she had been trying to examine Malfoy from a different perspective, one that suggested he could be a relatively pleasant person had he been born into a decent family, but waves of doubt were consistently disrupting this perception. He had ignored her existence for the past week, which in all honesty felt slightly nicer than being called a Mudblood and being screamed at, but being completely ignored made her feel less than a human at times. She wanted to yell at him that she was a human being, just like him, with coursing blood and emotions, and what right did he have to treat her like anything less?

"I'm going to go talk to him," Hermione decided, standing. Ron and Harry stared at her.

"Who, Malfoy?" they asked, incredulous.

"Yes, Malfoy," she sighed, gathering up her things and heading towards the fireplace.

"Right, well we'll go ahead and start planning your funeral," groaned Ron.

"Thanks, I'll talk to you later," replied Hermione as she stepped into a torrent of magical ash and fire. She felt her stomach lurch, and whether it was from traveling thousands of miles over the course of a second or from the thought of confronting Draco Malfoy, she didn't know. As the bushy haired girl entered the common room of the Ambassador Chambers, the pale boy was just exiting his bedroom. His grey eyes flickered over to her in a moment of surprise, and this was when she acted.

"Wait!"

Malfoy paused for a moment before turning away and heading to the door to leave.

"Draco, I said wait!" Hermione nearly shouted, striding over to him angrily.

"What the bloody hell do you want?" he hissed, eyes narrowed.

"We are going to talk," replied Hermione firmly, ready to grab his arm should he try to escape.

"Since when are we on a first name basis, Granger?" he sneered. "I don't have time to sit down and chat with you, Mud-"

"Shut up!" Hermione exploded. "Shut up, shut up! You will sit down and for the love of all things holy, you will shut up!" Draco gaped at her, all former expression of hate replaced with shock. He sunk into a seat. This was going to be the start of a very long day indeed.


	8. Chapter Eight

**A/N: I hope more than anything that neither Draco or Hermione got ooc here.**

Chapter Eight - Malfoy's Token Mudblood

Hermione paced in front of Malfoy, whose jaw was still dropped in shock, much like it had been the time she struck him across the face. Here was a boy who was not used to being commanded about, but Hermione didn't think she could handle it for the rest of the year if he continued to act as he did.

"I've put up with you for six _years_ ," said Hermione finally after the tense moments of silence. "I've put up with you calling me Mudblood, ugly, or know-it-all, treating me like the dirt underneath your shoe. But I am not going to put up with this shit for what is supposed to be the best year of my life! You act so superior, but don't think I don't know why! It's not because your parents are rich, it's not because you're a Pureblood, and it's _definitely_ not because you're any smarter or more attractive than the rest of humanity - it's because if you ever let your guard down and realized that I am a Muggle-born who is exactly like you in how I feel and how I think, what would your father say? Don't act like you actually think I'm less than human, as if you could _possibly_ think I don't notice that you only go out of your way to call me a Mudblood! Hogwarts has other Muggle-borns, so does Beauxbatons, but do you care about them? No. Because I'm your goddamn token Mudblood, the one that you can spit on and walk all over just so your daddy can hear you're not affiliating with people _he_ doesn't like. Because that's all it's about. I'm not going to suffer anymore because you're afraid of what Lucius would say if you dared to have your own bloody thoughts."

The words torrented from Hermione's mouth before she could even think of what she was saying. It was a rare sight to behold when Hermione Granger lost control of her actions, and interestingly enough it always seemed to be Malfoy who brought that out of her. She couldn't stand to be berated by him. When she was eleven years old, just a little girl, and had gotten into a wizarding school where she knew was very different and at much of a late start compared to the other children, she was determined to prove to them how brilliant she could be. And she had proved it, to most of them. But Draco Malfoy always had kept his mind closed, he had always tried to drag her down, and in the beginning, when she wasn't used to it, it had hurt like nothing else. No child deserved to have to get used to being called foul names.

Malfoy's grey eyes stared hard back into Hermione's amber ones. "You don't understand, Granger," he said slowly, rising from his seat. "I don't think you're less than human. I don't think you can't feel the things that I can feel. I don't think you're any less capable. But I do think you're only the way you are through a fluke in nature - a mistake. When two Muggles have a child, and that child is a witch like you, everything becomes messy. For thousands of years, wizards have been protecting the sanctity of the magical world from others for everyone's safety. Do you think Muggles would be accepting of things occurring that they couldn't possibly put any reason behind? Do you think wizards wouldn't take advantage of non-magical humans? It would be conflict after conflict, war after war, never ending until one side completely wiped out the other. But every moment, more and more Muggles are exposed to the truth of the magical world - your family when you displayed signs of being a witch, or perhaps when a Muggle marries a wizard. See, it gets harder to hide when a wizard tries to visit his parents-in-law for a week and not reveal anything about his actual life, which is completely absorbed in the wizarding world. It gets dangerous, Granger, which is why my family supports the upholding of Pureblood witches and wizards. That is why I don't believe you belong here."

"So what is a Muggle-born supposed to do, Malfoy?" snapped Hermione. "I didn't think while in my mother's womb, hm, I ought to be magical just to screw with the balance of the universe! Am I supposed to be torn from my family forever, to be integrated fully into the wizarding world? Or am I supposed to pretend I don't have magic running through my blood and just convince myself that I'm absolutely mad? Or perhaps you think the best option would be for me to just be killed off! Then there's really no problem, is there?" Tears of rage were welling in Hermione's eyes. "The thing you don't and won't understand, _Draco_ , is that Muggles can handle it! My parents would never tell anyone that I'm a witch, not because they're embarrassed, but because they understand why secrecy is important! A Muggle woman who marries a wizard would never tell other Muggles about this part of him, because she doesn't people to torment her husband or her children for being different. Can't you see? When a person loves someone else, they would never do anything to put them in harm's way! That's why wizards aren't in any danger of being exposed or attacked or whatever else you think will happen just because my parents know magic exists now! And I have as much of a right as you do to live my life to its fullest, not be hushed up like some freak of nature."

Draco glared at her, but he couldn't quite think of anything to say.

Hermione continued, calming down slightly, "Listen. I spent so many nights over the past six years contemplating all of this. I've looked at it from all sides and ultimately, as someone who has one foot in the Muggle world and one foot in the wizarding world, I can tell you that your belief that Muggle-borns put wizards in danger is completely wrong. And-" Her voice was beginning to falter. "I just have to ask you to please think about it, because if you do, then maybe we can save ourselves from a really terrible year. I'm not asking to be friends because Merlin knows that's impossible, but for the sake of me not suffocating you in your sleep, something needs to change between us."

Hermione watched as Malfoy seemed to be searching for a response to say. He had gotten very close to her in the heat of the discussion and was now pulling away to pace the room, much like she had before unloading all her thoughts onto him. It seemed like eternity before he became still and finally met her eyes again. His mouth opened and she waited anxiously for the words to come out, however awful they might be, but they never came. His pale face contorted into an all-too-familiar scowl as he turned sharply on his heel and stormed out of the common room, slamming the door in rage behind him.

Hermione watched the door for a full minute before she sank into an armchair behind her, face buried in her hands. She was past the point of tears, she was just simply exhausted. She rubbed her skin as if it just needed to be massaged for her stress to disappear, and a heavy sigh escaped her lips. The confrontation certainly could have gone better, but it also definitely could've gone worse. It was somehow like it always was, as a sort of shouting competition, chock full of anger, irritation, strong dislike, but at the same time, it had been very different. The dispute had had depth, it had contained real discussion, Malfoy had listened to her views and she had listened to his. It left her mind spinning and the thought entered her mind - if that was really Malfoy's belief on Muggle-borns... It was almost reasonable. It would never be completely reasonable, because as a Muggle-born, she knew she posed no threat to the wizarding world, but it was infinitely better than him saying something along the lines of 'Mudbloods are inferior because Muggles are daft, inhuman, dirty creatures and so are you.' As she was sure Malfoy would have no reservations on saying that on any normal day (because today he seemed to be more civil than usual), something still felt _off_ about his explanation.

Hermione had brought Lucius Malfoy into the mix when she accused Draco of following his father's views blindly. He had countered with the two worlds argument, dismissing her accusation. That was the part she felt him bristle at, like her words had momentarily struck a chord with him, and perhaps even made him question the independence of his own thoughts, but he had pushed it away forcefully, because it made him uncomfortable. She tried to put herself in his shoes. If she were Malfoy and she did have the smallest lingering suspicion that her beliefs were what they were due to her father alone, how would she feel?

In the end, she supposed Draco might accept this fact of life, that his opinions were not his own, because in all honesty, his future life depended on it. It was Lucius Malfoy would had ultimate power over him, to decide whether or not his son's life would be hell. It was cowardly of Draco to not fight back, but the more Hermione reflected, she realized it probably was also the smartest choice. For the first time ever, Hermione Granger felt pity on Draco Malfoy.

* * *

After his last class, Ron Weasley rashly decided to Floo over to Beauxbatons to check in on Hermione and, well, make sure Malfoy hadn't used the torture curse on her when she decided to confront him. He had slipped away from Harry who was completely engrossed with his little sister at the moment and prayed to all the potential higher powers out there that Malfoy would be nowhere around when Ron came in through the fireplace.

However, nothing seemed to answer this prayer. As soon as Ron stepped into the grate and felt a lurch, he could see the pale skin and white-blond hair of Malfoy through the ashes ahead of him. They dissipated and the scene became clear; Draco sat in an armchair near the fire place, furiously writing what seemed to be a letter on a small piece of parchment. Ron climbed awkwardly into the room, clearly his throat. The Slytherin looked up, clearly startled, before his expression twisted into a glare. Ron felt himself checking his robes for his wand and... Bloody hell, he had left it on his bed.

"Oi, where's Hermione?" he asked loudly.

"Like I would bloody know," spat Malfoy, glancing down at the letter on his lap with a look of anxiety. This peaked Ron's interest.

"Who are you writing to?" he asked suspiciously.

Malfoy looked livid. "You have absolute no sense of minding your own business, do you Weasel?"

"Well considering you're practically roommates with my best friend, you'll excuse me for being a little concerned about your affairs. Because if anything to happens to her-"

"Yes, I know, if anything happens to the little Mudblood then you and Potty will bring your army of pissed-off, self-righteous Gryffindors to set me straight," said Malfoy dully. Ron felt the heat rush to his face and before he had time to contemplate the fact that he was completely unarmed, he snatched the parchment right out of Malfoy's pale hands. The Slytherin snarled and lunged forward, but Ron had already leapt backwards. He looked down at the paper, eyes frantically trying to see what the letter was about until they finally rested on one name and stopped. Was Draco Malfoy writing a letter to-

It was suddenly ripped from his hands and Ron felt the sharp end of a wand twisting into his chest. Malfoy looked wild. "Did you - don't you _ever_ \- it's nothing!" he spluttered, looking deranged. Ron, sensing a hex was heading his way, shoved the Slytherin away from him and strode out the room, more determined than ever to find Hermione.

Something extremely fishy was happening when an elitist Slytherin was taking the time to write a letter to Hermione Granger.

Ron had finally found the library after following a group of Beauxbatons girls for what seemed like forever, and sure enough, propped in a corner and concealed by a pile of books, was Hermione.

"We need to talk," he said, slamming his hands on the table and causing her to jump in her seat. Her eyes widened in pleasant surprise.

"Ron! Wow, you're here out of nowhere-"

"Hermione, Malfoy's plotting something, I know it," interrupted Ron, cutting to the chase. "He was just in the common room writing a letter that was addressed to _you_."

"Me?" Hermione shifted in her seat uncomfortably. "Are you sure you saw if correctly?"

"I bloody ripped it out of his hands, didn't I?"

"Merlin's beard, Ron, what were you thinking?" Hermione cried out.

"But that's not the point! The point is, why would he be writing you a letter? Do you think he's going to curse it?" Ron searched Hermione's expression for answers but couldn't find any. She seemed to be deep in thought herself.

"No, I don't think our talk ended that badly. In fact, for Malfoy the argument we had today was extremely civil and enlightening," said Hermione, to Ron's bewilderment.

"What the bloody hell are you on about, Hermione?"

Hermione shot him a look. "It's too soon to explain, I haven't quite got it sorted out yet. It's just that I learned some things about him today. I'm curious to see what this letter is about, though I doubt he'll send it now that you've ripped it from his hands and humiliated him about it," she said wearily. Ron's face turned red - perhaps his actions had been a bit rash. She sighed and pulled her belongings into her bag. "Since you're here, you might as well stay for dinner. Don't worry, I'll keep you and Harry updated on what's going on when I figure it all out."

With that, the two best friends left the library side by side, each burning with curiosity about the mysterious letter.

* * *

Draco sat fuming on his bed for an hour. It was just his luck that Granger had suckered him into a conversation he didn't want to have this morning, and then when he was working on personal affairs, the Weasel popped out of his fireplace like he owned the place. Not only that, but he was completely positive Weasley had seen who the letter was addressed to.

The letter had been stupid, now that he thought about it. It was something he had written with no intention of sending, as it's only purpose was to validate his own feelings and confess to an imaginary Granger that his views were dictated by his family, and that she could never understand what that pressure was like. It was something he would never reveal to actual-Granger; he already knew what her reaction would be. He knew what anybody's reaction would be - that Draco Malfoy was pathetic and weak minded. But they didn't have thousands of years of strict standards attached to their names like he did. If the power of the Malfoy household rested on their Pureblood status, then without question, Draco would maintain it dutifully.

He was beginning to calm himself down. He quickly used reparo to fix the lamp he had shattered in his rage and let out deep breaths of air before he pushed open his bedroom door. He was surprised to see it wasn't empty, that Granger had set up camp in the arm chair in the far corner and had her nose to her Medical Potions textbook. Weasley, thankfully, was nowhere to be seen. Seeing Granger so docilely studying in their shared living area and not shouting at him caused some interesting wave of emotion to fall over Draco. He pulled his Medical Potions textbook from the book case and took a spot on the sofa, very distanced from Granger, but still in the same room. Neither acknowledged the other as they worked on the exact same assignment. If Madame Maxime could see them now, she probably would have been overcome with joy.

Halfway through his explanation of bee wings in contribution to fever reduction, Granger had pushed her book shut and sat forward, staring nervously at Draco. "What did you write for the fourth question?" she asked timidly. Draco froze, staring at his parchment. It was silent for a moment as Draco considered whether he ought to reply to the girl or not.

"Ashwinder eggs are more efficient for curing ague than wasp stingers," he replied quietly. Granger's former timidity had seemed vanish at this as she quickly moved to the vacant spot on the sofa next to him. Draco glared at her, but she didn't catch this as she was too busy shoving her own homework at him.

"That's what I said! Can we compare answers?" she asked eagerly, though she didn't really wait for a reply as she reached for his paper. He sighed in irritation before surrendering it to her. Her brown eyes eagerly scanned the parchment before she looked up at him and their eyes finally met. His were the first to break away.

"I'm sorry," said Granger, handing his parchment back to him. "It's just that Medical Potions is fascinating to me, and I've been eager study with someone." Draco remained silent, incredulous at how she was acting, like they hadn't been enemies for the past six years. When he felt it was safe, he once again raised his eyes to her, and could immediately see that she was mortified herself by how she was acting. "Right, well I think I'll head up now - g'night!" And in a frantic scramble, Granger had gathered all her belongings and rushed to her bedroom where the door closed in a tremendous bang.

He tried to return to his homework, but today was too strange to focus on anything else. His head was throbbing and he desired more than anything a nice, long soak in the bath, but the unfortunate bathroom situation was still unresolved. With a wave of determination, Draco rose from his seat to get to the bathroom before Granger went to sleep.

Draco knocked on her bedroom door. "I'd like to use the bath if that's alright," he called through the heavy oak. It was all so peculiar, this weird tension of formality and civility that had grown between him and Granger over the course of just a day. In ordinary circumstances, he would just demand that he be given access to the bathroom, and if she didn't open the door quick enough, he would do it for her. Perhaps things would be back to normal tomorrow. At least, that's what Draco hoped for.

Granger's door slowly opened to allow Draco entrance and her amber eyes stayed rooted to the ground. She still had on her Hogwarts school uniform, although Draco could see a crumbled night gown laying out on her bed. He held back a shudder - how strange it was to find himself standing in Hermjone Granger's bedroom. She apparently thought so too, as she strode open to the bathroom door and held it open for him, everything in her expression wanting him out of her room.

When Draco had sat in the hot, frothy waters of the bath for a good long while, he pulled on robes and exited the bathroom, half expecting Granger to have fallen asleep by now. But she still sat on her bed, fully dressed in school uniform, poring over a rather large book of-

"Are you studying hexes?" Draco asked her incredulously.

She looked up startled, before a slow mischievous smile appeared on her face. "Come look at this one," she said, beckoning him over. He paused, looking at the vacant spot next to her on her bed... Oh Merlin, this was a strange, strange day. He released a sigh before climbing onto the bed and sitting awkwardly next to the girl he had tormented for years. Despite the fact she had invited him to join her, he could feel her stiffen in unease with the proximity of him. Nevertheless, she pulled the huge book of hexes over to him, where it rested between his left knee and her right. Her small hand drifted across the page until it landed on one hex that showed an illustration of a wizard slapping another wizard. Draco raised his eyebrow at Granger, and she couldn't help but grin.

"This hex is intriguing, I have to admit," she said. "Look - 'When the user hexes their target with this spell, they choose a word that will be bound with the incantation. When the victim of such a hex speaks this word, a phantom hand with the force and size of the caster will strike the victim on their face.'"

Draco looked at Hermione in panic. "What the hell are you planning to do with that?"

Her smile was no comfort. "I was thinking I could bind it with the word 'Mudblood' and use it on you," she said nonchalantly.

His eyes narrowed dangerously. "You wouldn't dare, Granger."

"Why not? It's a foul word that I hate, and you're the only person who uses it. I could completely eradicate the word from my life!"

Before she could react, Draco grabbed ahold of the page that the hex instructions were on and swiftly tore it from the binding of the book. Hermione shrieked like he had ripped out her own hair or something, and the next second she was grappling with him, trying to wrench the page free from his fingers.

"Bloody hell - Granger!" Draco shouted as she continued to pummel him. "Get off me!"

"That's a library book, Malfoy," Granger seethed, though she finally had pulled herself back. "You can't just ruin library books like that!"

"Then give me the goddamn book and I'll reparo it, but you aren't having it back!"

"Fine, I'll just check it out of the library once you return it!"

"Then I won't return it!"

"It's under my name, if you don't return it I'll break into your room and steal it back!"

"You wouldn't dare, Granger."

"Why? Hiding something?"

"Of course not!"

"Just give me the damn book!"

"Merlin's bloody beard, you're infuriating - fine, take your bloody book back!" Draco snarled, throwing the colossal thing into her lap angrily. "But don't you dare hex me, or I will personally make your life a living hell."

"If you call me Mudblood one more time, I'm going to use it," said Hermione, eyes burning with determination. "I'm sick of that foul name!"

"Whatever!" Draco roared. "I won't call you it anymore, happy?"

Hermione gaped. "Really?" Though, her tone was anything but trusting.

"Yes, really, I don't fancy getting slapped for the rest of my life, believe it or not!" said Draco, exasperated. Merlin, she didn't know when to just let something go.

"Hmm," said Hermione, tapping her chin.

"What?" snapped Draco.

"Is it just me, or has today been really weird?"

"Granger, I'm currently sitting on your bed next to you in the middle of the night, promising not to use the word Mudb- I mean, you know. Of course it's a bloody weird day."

Hermione sat back as she contemplated this, half expecting Malfoy to realize where he was and what he was saying and to jump up, call her a Mudblood, and stride out the room at any moment. Yet he stayed rooted where he was, watching her as she thought with those cold grey eyes. He certainly didn't like her, nor did she like him, but today felt different, almost like the growing hate of six years was suddenly switched off. "I hope it's not back to normal tomorrow," said Hermione quietly.

"We still hate each other," said Draco in a tone that sounded more as though he were trying to convince himself. "It's just today we've been more civil about it."

"Yes, because you vandalizing my books and me punching you repetitively is civil," Hermione almost laughed.

Malfoy smirked. "For us? Yeah, I'd call that civil."

"Well," said Hermione, standing from the bed and extending a hand towards the Slytherin. "I'll keep being civil if you will."

As Draco stared at the small hand in front of him, a brief image of his father looking at him disapprovingly flashed through his mind. He quickly shook it out - maybe for just one day in his life, he could explore what his own beliefs were, just to know what it felt like before had had to finally commit to being heir of Malfoy Manor. He took Hermione's small, soft hand in his own, surprised at how amicable it felt as they shook, and a little embarrassed as she was the first to withdraw her hand. She smiled at him curiously, and he could tell her mind was swimming with questions about how he had been acting today. If he could explain them to even himself, he would've loved to explain them to her. But it would be a mystery for both of them for now, and as the two departed to their respective chambers, both would have a sleepless night.


	9. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine - The Two Assignments

The week had passed very slowly as both Hermione and Draco tried to adjust to their civil way of life. In all truthfulness, it was extremely awkward in the Ambassador Chambers and since neither of them had any clue how to continue to be amicable to the other, they had all but reverted back to their routine of avoiding one another. They did bump into each other every now and then, and Draco who was feeling skeptical about the entire thing, would have to bite back the insults that normally would stream out, completely unfiltered. Hermione, at the same time, didn't quite trust Malfoy to be civil to her for any reason, couldn't bring herself to engage in friendly conversation with him. It didn't help that she had spoken about the whole situation with Harry and Ron, who refused to believe that Malfoy could be anything more than a prat, and she was starting to believe that the one civil day they had shared was a fluke and would never happen again.

But it wasn't only the growing tension between the two Hogwarts Ambassadors - it also the lack of sleep that dragged the week out longer and longer. Every other night Draco wouldn't get to bed until after three in the morning due to his dueling lessons late at night, and he found that even the nights he could go to bed whenever he pleased, his sleep schedule had now been obliterated. The sessions were going well, as Proudfoot had been having a harder time lately knocking Draco off his feet, so they had moved onto offensive spells. Draco was sure he was going to end this year completely scarred and mangled, as after every session now he had cuts and bruises all over his body that even the healing potions were slow to mend.

It the next week on a Wednesday night that Draco gathered his wand and headed out to the south grounds to meet Proudfoot as usual. He was greeted by the friendly Auror and they had just gotten into position and raised their wands when Draco noticed something strange. Madame Maxime sat in her normal spot a ways off to observe the session, but on this cold night, she wasn't sitting there alone. Completely dwarfed by the half-giantess sat Granger, watching the duelers in fascination. Draco felt a surge of discomfort - what was is all about? Proudfoot immediately notice were Draco's attentions were and lowered his wand with a sigh.

"Right, I suppose I haven't gotten the chance to warn you," said Proudfoot, now at Draco's side. "This is sort of a joint session, sort of not."

"What the hell does that mean?" asked Draco, very distempered suddenly. He didn't like being caught off guard like this and for some odd reason, he would rather Granger didn't watch him being tossed to the ground repetitively.

"Madame Maxime wants to speak the both of you, but she doesn't want to disrupt our training schedule. So Miss Granger will be tagging along with her now, and you'll be tagging along during her lessons. Just for tonight, of course."

"I didn't agree to that!" Draco sputtered. This was all going to be so humiliating, he could feel it in his bones, and in the bruises he still had from two nights ago.

"Don't worry, it'll be perfectly fine," said Proudfoot with an encouraging smile. "It'll be a bit of a sleepless night, sure, but she's got something very important to say to you."

"Whatever," grumbled Malfoy, getting back into position. "Let's just get this over with."

* * *

Hermione didn't feel a trace of weariness as she watched Proudfoot and Malfoy duel. It was absolutely amazing - spells she had never seen before, spells they would never be allowed to learn in school. She found herself wholly invested in the match, and strangely enough, rooting for Malfoy. Sure, he may be a prat, but in the current duel he was definitely the underdog against a highly trained Auror. She winced when he fell back and very narrowly held in her cheers and applause the rare moments he got Proudfoot back. Truthfully, any of student who tried to duel an Auror would be lucky to get a single hit in, but Malfoy had already gotten more than a few.

She could also feel Madame Maxime watching her closely. "Any spells intrigue you, Hermione?" the Headmistress asked drawlingly.

"All of them," said Hermione as her eyes moved with the flashing blue lights that were now flowing from the two wands. "I recognized a couple that I had read about a while back, but I've never seen them done in person."

"Do you have any interest in learning any?" Madame Maxime asked, looking at the girl curiously. There seemed to be a flicker of doubt in Hermione's amber eyes, but she turned towards the Headmistress with her usual look of certainty.

"I suppose it would be good to learn some attack spells too," said Hermione. "After all, it can be a part of self-defense."

"That is true," agreed Maxime, nodding. "If a Dark wizard is attacking you violently, shield charms only go so far - they do nothing to stop the attacker, and he could continue to pursue you until you slip up."

"Alright," said Hermione, now resolved at the prospect of Dark wizards attacking her. "I'd like to learn some then."

Madame Maxime smiled, clearly satisfied by this development. "I tell you what - why don't you go over to Draco right now and ask him to teach you the basics."

"What?" Hermione was incredulous. "Why can't you or Proudfoot teach me?"

"A few reasons. First of all, my size makes my spells more powerful, I could never use them in a duel against a student. Secondly, there's a sort of element of learning that comes through teaching. I rather think Draco would improve his own spell work by instructing you on yours. Thirdly, it is time the two of you eased into working as a team."

And with that, Hermione found herself striding across the grounds towards Draco Malfoy, who was going to be teaching her. She felt abashed at her pridefulness, not liking the feeling that a fellow student would be instructing her, but Maxime had been right, of course. It was time to swallow her pride, and who knows? Maybe the awkwardness that had been surrounding her and Malfoy would be slightly alleviated before the night was finished.

* * *

Proudfoot lowered his wand suddenly, looking over Draco's shoulder with a grin. "Hello there!" he called out, giving a friendly wave - Draco whirled around, grimacing upon seeing Granger walking tentatively towards him.

"Hello," replied Granger, looking at Proudfoot nervously. She stopped a few feet in front of Draco, who was glaring at her, and Proudfoot quickly made his way over.

"How can we help you, Hermione?" asked Proudfoot curiously.

"Er - well, Madame Maxime thought it might be good if Mal - I mean, Draco, taught me some basic offensive spells," replied Granger, refusing to meet Draco's cold gaze. Teach Granger? How the hell was that supposed to work, Granger already knew everything supposedly!

"That sounds like a wonderful idea!" Proudfoot exclaimed. "You up for it, Draco? Sometimes teaching is the best way to perfect your learning."

"Yeah, alright," Draco muttered. What was already an uncomfortable situation was becoming even more so as Proudfoot sauntered off to join Madame Maxime. Hermione and Draco stood awkwardly for a few moments.

"Shall we find a tree or something to practice on?" asked Hermione, breaking the silence between them. Draco shrugged and led them over to an oak tree near the perimeter of the gardens.

"Right, well," he tried to begin. "I'm a shit tutor and I've never done this before, so just bear that in mind, Granger." With that shoddy introduction, Draco pulled his wand from his robes for the second time that night. This action sparked Granger's never faltering curiosity.

"I've always wondered about your wand," she blurted suddenly, looking at the thing of interest.

"My wand?" Draco sneered. "What about my wand?"

"You can apparently tell a lot about a wizard based on his wand - I read about it once, and since, well, things have been the way they are between us for the past six years, I've just been curious about yours especially," said Hermione.

"So you want to figure me out based on a piece of wood?" Draco scoffed. Of course, it wasn't just a piece of wood to him - it was his most valued possession, something that he hadn't inherited, rather something that _chose_ him. "Good luck with that," he said, handing the girl his wand despite his better judgements, rather because he was curious about it himself.

Hermione turned it over in her hands. "What's the core? And is this hawthorn?"

"Yes, and it's unicorn hair," he replied coldly, beginning to regret this as her eyes widened in surprise.

"I really didn't expect that," Hermione said quietly, causing Draco to glare at her suspiciously. He wanted her to hurry up and blather on whatever silliness she was formulating about him, but she was taking an exceedingly long time. The next words that left her mouth rendered him surprised - "I don't want to offend you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he snarled. "Nothing's wrong with my wand, so if you're going to say it's weak or some shit, just hand it back now."

She just blinked at him, with no intention to relent the wand. "No, nothing like that. It's actually really powerful... I'm just worried that you'll be irritated about what it says about you, is all. Not that it's bad, but because I'm the one saying it."

Draco rolled his eyes dramatically. "Merlin's beard, Granger, I don't actually believe that the type of wood is going to reveal my innermost personality, and neither should you. Lighten up and just tell me your damn theory."

She returned a glare to him, evidently annoyed he wasn't taking it seriously. When she had read Ollivander's book on wand cores and wand wood, she had been astounded to find that it matched her in every aspect of her personality. Dragon heartstring picked up new spells the quickest, which paired perfectly with her eagerness to learn, and the vine it was made from was said to attach instantly to its owner, and was intended for those with great visions for the future. Being the skeptic that Hermione naturally was, she had also flipped through the pages to research Harry and Ron's wand, both perfect matches. She knew even Malfoy wouldn't be able to deny how spot on these "theories" were.

"Fine, I'll tell you, but just remember not to get irritated with me," said Hermione sternly, turning the wand once more in her hands. It was slightly shorter than her own, and far less springy, so it felt rather out of place in her hands. "Shall I start with the wood or the core?"

Malfoy feigned deep contemplation. "Oh, which will I choose?" he mocked. Hermione knew sooner or later he would forget their civility agreement - although she could easily deal with sarcasm. "Core then."

"Alright. Unicorn hair," began Hermione eagerly, "is the most faithful wand core of the three. Someone would have trouble using it unless they were very similar in nature. I probably couldn't even get sparks out of this." Sure enough, she tried to perform lumos, and nothing happened. Malfoy looked momentarily proud of his wand for ignoring her request before remembering he wasn't supposed to be believing any of this ridiculousness. "Unicorn hair wands are very tuned with the owner's emotions and will even die if they are mishandled. And..." Hermione hesitated - this was the most surprising part to her about his wand core, but she couldn't very well admit her surprise without first insulting his entire family. "Unicorn hair wands are nearly impossible to turn to the Dark Arts."

She watched Malfoy carefully as she said this, wondering what his reaction would be, if any. Everyone knew the emphasis that the Malfoys placed on Dark Arts, to the point where it had simply become fact. This had to be one of the rarest, if not only unicorn hair wand to be possessed in eras by a Malfoy, because they simply had too much experiencing toying with Dark Magic, which unicorn hair would not transmit. And sure enough, something flickered in Malfoy's eyes that expressed exactly what Hermione was thinking. She moved on as quickly as she could.

"Then of course there's the hawthorn wood," she said. "Hawthorn is known for being exceptional in healing magic, as well as curses. Ollivander actually quoted Gregorivitch in his book for hawthorn - 'Hawthorn makes a strange, contradictory wand, as full of paradoxes as the tree that gave it birth, whose leaves and blossoms heal, and yet whose cut branches smell of death.' So hawthorn wands are usually found in the hands of one who has a conflicted nature or inner turmoil. It also makes a very powerful wand that is hard to master, which of course says something about your magical abilities," said Hermione, eager to end it with a compliment to glaze over the inner turmoil part, which she suspected Malfoy would not react kindly to. Whatever his thoughts were on this, Hermione wouldn't know, as he had turned away from her to face the tree they were supposed to be practicing on.

"Right, well now that you've evaluated me to your satisfaction," he said in a strained voice, "I'd like my wand back to I can actually teach you a thing or two."

The rest of the time, nothing was discussed other than spell work. Hermione could feel a tension emitted by Malfoy that she didn't want to release anymore than she had - he obviously hadn't like being analyzed, but he couldn't fault her for it, as she had warned him. So she quietly took his advice on the best way to place her feet if she ever found herself in a duel with another witch or wizard, and learned the most basic spells that would buy her enough time to remove herself from the situation. Malfoy had been wrong to say he wasn't a good tutor; Hermione found herself catching on with ease, like she had in Professor Lupin's class. He was engaging to listen to when he wasn't being rude, although he was currently a little cold and stiff towards her, and it was one of the few times she had gotten to see how he handled his wand when he wasn't threatened her or her friends. He was graceful, careful and precise with his motions, and became quicker the more he became at ease.

But Hermione wasn't just thinking about his wand work. She had been wondering about his wand ever since she had read Ollivander's book - surely there had to be more to the Slytherin than his venom. And now she was realizing that was true. Inner conflict, ineptness for the Dark Arts - two things she would have never pinned to be Draco Malfoy. Over the past week, she had been losing faith that he could be anything more than a shadow of his father, but this information restored her hope considerably. While she didn't believe that Malfoy could be someone she could be friends with, she at least hoped by the end of the year they had gotten past all the senseless fighting. How much like Lucius could Draco really be when his very own wand refuted it, and when one basic tenet of his inner self was branded 'conflicted'? Lucius was certainly not conflicted; he knew what he believed, who he despised, and who he thought was superior and inferior. _As long as Draco doesn't turn into Lucius_ , thought Hermione, _I should be able to tolerate him._

Their tutoring session came to an end as both Madame Maxime and Proudfoot approached, merrily chatting about Quidditch, of all things. It seemed they had a favorite team in common - the Toyohashi Tengu, a name Hermione had come across in, yes, a book. Not that she particularly cared for Quidditch if Harry or Ron weren't playing, rather that she just enjoyed keeping up with all aspects of the wizarding world. Malfoy perked up instantly to hear talk of Quidditch - it was clear he missed the sport as with the private sessions he really had no time for team sports.

"It looks like you did a good job teaching," Maxime praised Malfoy.

"He wasn't too bad, was he?" Proudfoot joked with Hermione. "That would reflect poorly on me, you know."

After Hermione assured her satisfaction with Malfoy's teaching, Proudfoot separated, leaving Madame Maxime to lead the two ambassadors to where Hermione practiced defensive spells.

Draco hung a distance back from the two, finally having a moment to reflect on what Granger had said. He had pegged the wand theory stuff as nonsensical, but now that he had heard them, he was left with the all-too-familiar and unpleasant feeling of growing unease. He was a Malfoy after all - Dark magic was supposed to come to him like breathing, and he was supposed to be unwavering in character. Yet he had tried Dark magic before, nothing too sinister or illegal, just something his father had told him about, a curse to cause a tree to wilt entirely within minutes. But his wand had entirely resisted, and he could feel it. The resistance had scared him, more specifically the implications of what it could mean if something he was born to be good at didn't work, and he had refused to try it again.

Then there was the part about his conflicted nature. Draco felt conflicted with himself since he was a child, but he had always assumed that was something to work itself out when he became older and more aware of his responsibilities. It, of course, had not gotten in better now that he was in his final year of schooling and about to be thrust into the world of work and adults and obligations. It was not just minor conflict, either - not just "What career will I pursue?" or "Where would I like to settle down someday?" It was much, much more than that; questions of morality raced through his mind as he lay in bed at night, questions about who he was, where he belonged, whether he was elated by his life of riches and superiority or completely miserable, crippled by waves of loneliness and dependency. Some days he absolutely despised Harry Potter, despised Ronald Weasley, despised the Mudblood Granger, other days he felt pained to the point of sickness with jealously and longing. If anything, his conflicted nature was becoming worse as he shared living quarters with Granger, who was really not so insufferable as he has convinced himself she had been, and questioned whether he had any free will under his father's authority. This year, however, he was meant to be focused. That was the whole purpose for his being at Beauxbatons, after all.

Draco was dangerously close, in that moment, to turning around and stalking away from Madame Maxime and Granger to go to his room where he could scream and pace and crumble under the pressures of his life away from everyone else, but something stopped him. Rather, a smile stopped him. Madame Maxime and Granger had stopped before a classroom door, and as the Headmistress unlocked it, Granger whirled around and flashed him a brilliant smile. He was stunned.

"Maybe I can show you some of the spells I've been learning," she said brightly. Draco was absolutely sure that if Madame Maxime were to turn around, a smile would be going from one ear to another - it was clear she was itching for the two to become friendly so they could be the dynamic duo she had surely envisioned when Dumbledore suggested the ambassador idea to her. He was annoyed that Granger was playing right into this, but he was also amazed that he would ever feel a warm, genuine smile from the girl he had tormented over six years time. It was like she had lapses in her memory lately where none of that mattered, and he was just a boy and she was just a girl, and things were alright. Half of his heart longed for that to be true. The other half knew it would never be.

But he didn't know that Hermione remembered every moment he had ever humiliated her, and that she was willing to forget them, if only he could convince her it was worth the trouble. Forgetting was a long, heavy process when it was so easy to hold the things that Malfoy had done against her. She had never wanted to be the sort of person who had their eyes closed to other people's perspectives, though, and that was why she continued to work towards something at least tolerable between her and Malfoy - because for once, his perspective was beginning to make sense. It was complicated and messy beyond belief, but there was sense in it nevertheless.

She had been taken aback by how easy it had been in that moment to smile at him, as if it had been Harry or Ron standing behind her and not the Slytherin. His grey eyes had widened and she knew immediately he was taken aback too. Yet something told her that he had needed that smile very much in that moment, and she was glad to share it with him.

"Hermione has learned a plethora of defensive spells and enchantments since we began," said Madame Maxime, snapping both Hermione and Draco from their strangely similar thoughts to the matter at hand. "She can now secure a fairly large area with basic enchantments, and with your growing expertise in dueling magic, Draco, I feel ready to introduce a new assignment to the two of you. Please, let's take a seat, and then perhaps Hermione can demonstrate some of her knowledge for your own learning benefit, Draco."

The two involuntarily exchanged worried glances with each other as they sank into chairs on either side of the enormous woman.

"For the sake of not beating around the bush," began Madame Maxime, eyeing the watch on her wrist. "I'd just like to say that I'm extremely pleased with the progress you both have made in your independent sessions. I've been sending Professor Dumbledore reports on the matter and we've both agreed it's high time for the two of you to apply your skills outside of school grounds. It's often in the midst of a crisis that the strongest witches and wizards learn the most, and as you both well know, Beauxbatons is on the verge of a crisis with Durmstrang Institute." Draco could've snorted at this - the _verge_ of a crisis? Had he not watched as a bloody Madame Maxime collapsed in front of him just weeks ago? "The two of you, with the aid of some of the finest Aurors we have employed here, will be surveying the Lake Geneva forests in Switzerland. As Draco might recall, there was something of a skirmish there a couple weeks back, and while all major threats have fled from the area, we need to ensure that no one is lurking about, and we need to look for any information that might lead us to knowing where Karkaroff might be heading to next. This is crucial, as we cannot allow these Dark wizards to get any nearer to Beauxbatons. It must be retained as a place of learning, not a place of violence."

"Madame?" Hermione asked tentatively. "There's not going to be a war, is there?"

"No, not if I have any say in it," said Madame Maxime. "I should like to think with our efforts and the Ministry, Karkaroff will be in Azkaban by the end of the semester. You'll depart with Proudfoot early Monday morning, so please get your affairs in order before then. And now, though I do hope you'll forgive me, I must excuse myself. I have other matters to attend to before I can go to bed, though feel free to stay here as long as you wish, since it would be wise for Monsieur Malfoy to brush up on defensive spells before heading to Switzerland."

Draco waited a few moments after the Headmistress had left the room before turning to Hermione, burning with questions. "So what exactly do you think we're doing?"

"Sounds like we'll be scouting out the area to me," said Hermione.

"And did she mention where we are supposed to stay?"

"No, but I would assume it'll be camping, as we will be moving around."

"Bloody hell," swore Malfoy. "Never thought I'd be going on a camping trip with you, Granger."

"Maybe we can make s'mores," said Hermione jokingly, but she could see it was lost on Malfoy as he stared blankly back at her.

"S'mores?"

"Yikes, maybe not. Apparently that's a Muggle thing," she said cautiously. Draco had just opened his mouth to reply when a sharp rapping came from the window outside. "Is that an owl?" asked Hermione, striding over to the glass. Sure enough, a large eagle owl was tapping his beak against it, as though asking for permission to enter. Draco looked at it skeptically - it was four in the morning, why was an owl delivering anything? But Hermione had unlatched the window and let the owl swoop in, who made a beeline for Draco. He was left with a letter in his hands, with the familiar brusque handwriting of his father. As he read it, he felt his blood go cold.

"What is it?" Hermione asked curiously.

"Nothing," said Malfoy through gritted teeth. "Listen, I'm going to head up to bed now. I'll see you later." And with that, the pale boy strode out of the room, letter clenched in his tight fist. Hermione looked curiously on - something was definitely wrong. But what was it?


	10. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten - In Which Hermione Granger Flies a Substantial Distance Without Dying

Draco Malfoy was staring down at an ebony box laying on his bed, feeling sickened. To the left of the box sat a crumpled piece of parchment whose black ink seemed to loom at him. Of course, when things were finally becoming manageable at Beauxbatons, his father had to ruin it all. He didn't know what the objects in the box did, but he had a feeling they were something horrible, potentially worse than anything contained at Malfoy Manor, as his father himself had worried these items wouldn't be safe even there. He was instructed by his mother repetitively not to touch or even open the box, and so far his curiosity hadn't overcome his cautiousness.

Lucius Malfoy had been more than happy to allow his son to attend Beauxbatons rather than Hogwarts, but now it was clear that if Durmstrang had been an option, Draco would be somewhere up north in a frozen castle, or perhaps conducting Karkaroff's dirty work. So instead, Draco was being instructed to become a traitor.

 _Take the box into the woods on the south side of the chateau Saturday night. From there, a man named Ignatiev will meet you. Leave the box in his care._

Ignatiev - a Durmstrang professor.

 _If you curry enough favor in Karkaroff's eyes, he has promised to take you under his wing - an offer of preference next to the half-giantess beast._

His father didn't understand. Madame Maxime was more than capable. He didn't understand he would be tearing apart his son's last year of education to make a political statement. Not only was Lucius Malfoy siding with Dark wizards, but he was forcing Draco to side with them too. If anyone at Beauxbatons were to find out he was slipping their enemies potential weapons, that was it for his entire future. His father was always one to pick sides, but was very cautious when it came to protecting the reputation of the Malfoy name - which is why is seemed especially odd that he encouraged such bold behavior.

And then there was what Granger said. Draco didn't even have the capacity for Dark Magic. If his father knew, if Karkaroff knew - he could only imagine their displeasure and the extent to which they would punish him for it. He hadn't wanted to be inept at it, he had wanted to make his father proud.

There was yet one other matter - Granger herself. He had gone against everything he was raised to believe about Muggle-borns, he had gone against his very instincts which said to treated her poorly, and instead he had talked to her, sat with her, felt his stomach flip when she smiled at him. He was actually enjoying being civil with the Muggle-born, and now that that had happened, his father was suddenly calling for him to betray her, and Madame Maxime, and put the entire student body, including Granger, in danger of Dark wizards.

But what could Draco do about it?

* * *

It was Saturday afternoon, just two days before Hermione would be traveling all the way to Switzerland. As of late, she had been visiting Hogwarts at least once a day to spend time with her two best friends. She had just returned to Beauxbatons in her common room after visiting Hagrid (he had just brought out the cakes and tea when Hermione decided it was definitely time to finish her packing). Malfoy was nowhere to be seen, and truthfully this has been the case since Wednesday night. It were as though the Slytherin was avoiding her, and Hermione had a sinking suspicion it had to do with the letter he had received. Perhaps Lucius had somehow found our that his son was being too friendly with a Muggle-born, and now Draco was back to listening to his father's orders like a dog. She felt her blood boil whenever she thought about it - if Draco Malfoy had the potential to be a decent human being for once in his life, she wasn't bloody well going to let Lucius stop him.

"Malfoy!" she called irritably as she banged on his bedroom door with her small fist. "Can you help me with something please?"

She knew he was there, he had been sulking there every chance he got. But Malfoy didn't reply, nor open the door for her.

"I said please, Draco," she said, changing her tone to a plea and throwing in his first name for good measure. In the ebb and flow of their strange relationship, Hermione still wasn't sure if it irritated him or startled him to hear his first name from her. Either way, it got a result. The oak door in front of her slowly opened, and to her displeasure she saw a room that looked like carnage and a pale boy with extremely dark circles under his eyes, whose buttoned shirt was wrinkled and the buttons weren't aligned.

"What do you want, Granger?" His tone wasn't angry or brusque like usual. Today it was simply quiet - empty. This worried Hermione, so she pushed herself into his room by ducking under his arm. That was when she saw a shiny black box at the foot of his bed, which stood out against the mess and disorder of the room. His bedsheets were on the ground, which was also littered by dirty clothes, and his trunk engraved with Slytherin's crest was flooding, half its contents spewed out. "I didn't say you could come in here," said Malfoy, more sharply this time. His eyes glanced towards the neat box on his bed, a glance that Hermione didn't miss.

"I need help deciding what to pack," she said, ignoring him and taking a seat on his bed, just a short distance from the box. She could almost feel the tension building in the boy.

"It's really not that hard, Granger, and as you can see, I haven't packed yet," Malfoy said, clearly desperate to get her out of her room.

"Yes, I can see that," said Hermione, wrinkling her nose as she gazed about the room. "Why do all boys have such messy rooms?"

"Spend a lot of time in boys' bedrooms, do you Granger?"

She chose to ignore him. "I can help you pack then, since you'll need to get started."

"Listen," said Malfoy, becoming angry. "I'll pack when I'm good and well ready, I don't need a M- I mean, I don't need the likes of you to command me about, though I know you revel in being bossy."

Hermione's eyes widened in surprise. She hadn't really expected that Malfoy would try to stick to their agreement and not call her a Mudblood anymore. "I want to talk to you, though."

"About what?"

"Nothing, really," said Hermione. "I just want to talk. You've been avoiding me."

Malfoy had an expression of both surprise and confusion. "We aren't friends, Granger, I haven't been avoiding you." He still stood in the door frame, now leaning against it with crossed arms, watching her closely as she watched him back.

"I know we aren't friends, Draco," said Hermione quietly. "It's just-"

"Please stop calling me Draco," he interrupted suddenly. His eyes were squeezed shut as though he were in pain, and his hands were clenched at his side. Hermione rose from her place on the bed, going over to where Malfoy stood.

"Why?" she asked softly, peering up at his face with concern.

"Because it makes everything harder for me," he breathed shakily. Hermione didn't know what she would do should he begin to cry, so she found herself instead taking his hand in hers and giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Alright. I won't make things harder for you." Her voice brimmed with sympathy and she was slow to release his hand. When she left the room, Draco could still feel the warmth of her hands and hear the care in her voice. He looked back and forth between where she had been sitting on his bed and the box, suddenly knowing what he had to do. He just hoped his mother's warnings were unfounded.

* * *

Hermione felt guilty after leaving the room, like she was manipulating the Slytherin. She hadn't truly wanted to reach out and comfort him, as much as she knew that it was the right thing to do. Draco Malfoy was a human after all, and despite their rocky history, his emotions just then had been real and vulnerable. Despite it though, she still felt reluctant to help Malfoy in any way, expecting him to turn around and somehow use it to destroy her.

When she had decided to comfort her childhood enemy, it hadn't been out of the good of her heart - it had been because of the box on his bed. For her, it wasn't hard to put together. She didn't know the details of it all, but it seemed clear to her that Malfoy was conflicted, and it had to do with the box. The way he kept looking at worriedly, the way he had tensed when she sat by it - something was wrong with that box, or what was in it. Hermione had the suspicion his father was putting him up to something, and knowing Lucius Malfoy, it probably wasn't legal, ethical, or safe. So she had decided to feed one side of his conflicted self, the part of him that didn't want to listen to his father, and she had done that by showing him comfort and care, that she was on his side. With any luck, it would tip the scales in Draco Malfoy's warring mind.

Ashamed of herself, Hermione went to her rooms to pack and consume her mind with the pressing matters of Switzerland.

* * *

That same night, when the sky had turned to a complete blackness, Draco Malfoy slipped out of Beauxbatons chateau, a small black ebony box tucked under his arm. The silence left nothing for his mind to focus on, other than all the ways tonight could go horribly wrong. As he glided across the southern lawns, if he had looked back at the chateau, he might've been able to spot a small face of a girl peering from the window of the Ambassador Chambers, watching him in contemplation. But Draco Malfoy had other matters on his mind - a figure lurking in the trees ahead of him, large and bulky, in a bristly fur coat. Ignatiev.

"You haff brought the box?" said the man in a rumbling low voice. Draco could only nod in reply; his tongue didn't seem to be quite working correctly. Ignatiev thought nothing of this, however, and took the box eagerly into his hands. A moment later, his large fingers had unclasped it and the lid fell open to reveal two objects - a small ivory horn, and a deep purple diamond-cut amethyst. Ignatiev stared at the objects for what Draco found to be a painfully long time. His cold, beady eyes met Draco's before he said, "Vonderful. Karkaroff vill be very pleased."

As Draco nearly broke into a run on his way back to his room, he felt immense relief. Nothing had gone wrong. Not yet, at least. For now, that was all he could ask for.

* * *

Hermione and Malfoy stood alone near the fountain of the Flamels, with their luggage at their feet as they waited for Madame Maxime and Proudfoot. It was currently six in the morning on Sunday, and neither of the two had any idea how they would be traveling to Switzerland. A canvas backpack sat at Hermione's feet, and it contained five heavy book as well as her clothes and other essentials - she had cast an extension spell on it the night previous. Malfoy seemed to be traveling with a luminous black suitcase in tow. Hermione felt she might commentate on his poor choice for camping, but as per usual, things had become strained yet again between the pair of them. This time, it was mainly Hermione's fault. She couldn't shake the image of Malfoy sneaking out at night and giving someone that box. It seemed as though he had listened to Lucius and not her, and she had debated for hours whether she should tell the Headmistress. Ultimately she decided against it. She didn't Malfoy to lose what little trust in her he had, even though she returned no trust whatsoever.

Malfoy sighed, evidently tired of waiting in strained silence. Hermione watched out of the corner of her eye as he sat along the edge of the fountain, swirling it aimlessly with the point of his wand. In the distance, she could see the looming figure of Madame Maxime approaching, and next to her were two others. Yes, one was Proudfoot and the other -

"Tonks?" said Hermione incredulously. Sure enough, the bubble-gum pink haired Auror was heading her way, grinning widely. In either hand was a broomstick, and Proudfoot was carrying a similar load. What excitement Hermione had at seeing Tonks would be going with them soon dissipated when she realized the mode of transportation was broomstick.

"What?" said Tonks. "Don't like the looks of Firebolt Supremes?"

"Oh Merlin's beard, I don't like _flying_ ," said Hermione hoarsely. Malfoy was elated though.

"This is great!" he roared, taking a broom from Proudfoot. "Flying to Switzerland on the fastest brooms in the world? This is bloody brilliant!"

Madame Maxime smiled lightly down at the four of them. "Please be careful, and bring back our ambassadors in one piece if you can," she joked to Tonks and Proudfoot. "As for you two-" she turned to Hermione and Draco, "I'll consider your cooperation skills to be amazing if neither of you ends up killing the other." Malfoy smirked but Hermione couldn't crack the smallest of smiles. If Malfoy was going around being a double agent, he very well could get her killed. But she kept these thoughts to herself.

All too soon, their bags were strapped securely to their broomsticks and Hermione found herself clambering on shakily. Malfoy beside her looked over.

"You'll get used to it shortly, Granger," he assured her. She would've thought this encouragement coming from him surprising, but she was rather concerned about keeping the contents of her stomach down. "Firebolts are smooth riders, so you won't need to worry about turbulence. And if you fall, you've got three people here to catch you," he joked, which made her feel even queasier.

"Right," said Tonks from Hermione's left. "Everyone ready?"

"Got everything secured?" asked Proudfoot from Malfoy's right.

"Oh Merlin," groaned Hermione squeezing her eyes shut. But then everyone else was shooting off the ground, and she had to go. Her shaky foot pushed from the loose earth and she rocketed towards the sky, letting out a scream as she scrambled to gain control over the speed. Malfoy doubled back so that he was next to her, motioning to her how to adjust her speed and direction, as the wind was whipping loudly and carried all words away. They were climbing higher and higher into the atmosphere, ahead of them were Tonks' unmistakable hair and Proudfoot's jovial laughter. Maxime Madame became a dwarf in their vision as they ascended, and soon she wasn't visible at all, nor was the expansive chateau. It was nothing but the Pyrenees now, vast before them. Hermione desperately wished she could enjoy the sight of them half as much as she did during the carriage ride, but there was no way too sit on a slender piece of wood and feel sturdy.

Malfoy, now assured that Hermione wouldn't plummet back to the earth in a horrifying mess, was taking this time to shoot through the air at full speed, dipping and diving and spinning like he was meant to live in the sky. Hermione watched, apprehensive at first, but the longer she watched maneuver after maneuver, she felt weirdly reassured. If someone was able to do that on a broomstick and not die, then surely she could ride it as she was. Suddenly Malfoy popped up beside her through the fog, riding so closely by her side that their legs were bumping.

"What are you doing?" she cried, none to thrilled with the rockiness that was coming from this situation.

"Just wanted to ask you if you'd like to join me. I can show you what it feels like to do tricks on the broom, and since I know how to do them, you'll be perfectly safe."

"You want me to get on there with you?" shouted Hermione over the wind.

Malfoy shrugged. "Why not?"

"For more reasons than one!" yelled Hermione back. "The main one being I don't want to die!" The other was of course that she didn't trust Malfoy as far as she could throw him to not shove her off. And since when was Malfoy willing to have such close proximity with her?

"Suit yourself!" Malfoy shouted back before spiraling downwards into the mist in a corkscrew pattern. Hermione, desperate not to look down anymore than she had to, sped up only slightly to catch up with Tonks and Proudfoot. The two were so leisurely on their broomsticks, they weren't even holding on with their hands, and seemed to be playing a game of charades in air. Hermione gaped at them. Was everyone mad?

"Hello, Hermione," greeted Tonks with a grin. "Betcha didn't expect me to be here!"

"No," admitted Hermione. "But I'm glad you are. How are things going with Lupin?"

"Swimmingly," replied Tonks. "Couldn't ask for a better husband! But how are things going for you? All I ever hear from anyone is that Draco is a right little git - and I'm related to him! You handling him alright?"

"He's fine," said Hermione, which was the partial truth. He had been fine until she saw him sneaking about. Now she wasn't sure. That brought an idea to mind. "Tonks? Do you think when we've got some free time, you could teach me some spells to detect Dark Magic or artifacts?"

"Of course!" she beamed. "That'll be handy now anyways, since we're looking for traces of Dark magic in the forests."

"And, um... How long of a ride will this be?"

"Don't worry, it's an hour at most," Tonks said reassuringly. "I used to be awful at flying you know; tried to join Hufflepuff Quidditch team and ended up breaking my nose in seven different spots." Somehow, this didn't come as a surprise to Hermione. Malfoy had rejoined the group, and Proudfoot produced something from his pocket.

"Who's on for a seeking match?" he asked mischievously, holding a glimmering golden Snitch in his palm. With that, he and Malfoy sped off into the distance, leaving Hermione still unsteady on her broom and Tonks, who couldn't have very well left her behind.

"They'll probably be at the first camp spot ages before us now," said Tonks approvingly. "Gets us out of having to set up tents, right?"

It wasn't too terribly long before the terrain slowly turned from mountainous to level to mountainous yet again. They were in the Alps now, and these mountains were even more towering than the ones surrounding Beauxbatons. They were jagged and harsh looking, but just as beautiful. It was like how Hermione had imagined the mountains to be in _Lord of the Rings_. To her massive relief, Tonks began to lead her into a slow descent back to solid ground, and sure enough before them was a huge spread of pure blue water. Lake Geneva. It was absolutely gorgeous, nestled in the jagged Alps valley, little towns twinkling around its edge. But where they were going, there would be no people nearby. Their Firebolts carried them over to a thick expanse of trees, and getting to the ground proved to be quite the challenge as they was hardly a clearing to be seen. Hermione was hit by a branch at least twice before her feet touched down the ground. Oh, the ground, the heavenly ground. Nothing felt better at this moment to her than it, though her legs wobbled uncontrollably as she dismounted.

They began a short trek through the trees, broomsticks carried over their shoulders. Tonks led the way, holding her wand out in her hand as it swiveled like a compass. "Shouldn't be too far, Proudfoot says he knows a good clearing to set up camp in," Tonks said. Hermione was filled with unease as she remembered the real reason they were here - not to play around on broomsticks or to admire the beauty of nature, but to track leads on Dark wizards, a far grimmer prospect. The trees suddenly seemed less wonderful than they did foreboding - someone could easily be hidden behind the leaves, watching them. Tonks seemed to sense Hermione's growing unease, because she said, "Don't be too paranoid, Hermione. We've made sure nobody is lurking more than enough times, and honestly there's no reason for any Dark wizard to still be out here. They'll have all gone back to Karkaroff or scouted out a different area. Ah, I think we're getting close."

It was true, the trees were getting thinner and more light was shining through. Up ahead, they could distinctly hear the voices of Proudfoot and Malfoy, who seemed to be discussing - Quidditch. Honestly, was that all anybody discussed these days? Hermione felt herself wishing she could have a nice lengthy talk with someone about literature, but she doubted Tonks was the bookish type.

"Hey!" yelled Tonks through the trees at the top of her lungs. "If you two are sitting around on your bums and those tents aren't set up, I'll hex you back to Beauxbatons!" On an afterthought, she added, "And really Proudfoot, the Toyohashi Tengu? Have you no national pride?"

When Hermione and Tonks had finally emerged from the trees into a relatively small clearing, Proudfoot and Malfoy were seated on a rock, Firebolts within reach. The tents had been set up, and Proudfoot grinned at the pink-haired witch. "You've missed all the fun! We even set up your tent by hand." To the left of the clearing was a white canvas tent that stood perfectly, every fold of the fabric smooth, every rod that held it up straight. To the right was a horribly sad tent that seemed to be slouching due to lacking self-confidence; it was clear which tent was put up by hand and not magic.

Tonks snorted. "Yeah, right. Come on, Hermione, this one's ours." She scooped up her luggage from the broomstick and hauled it to the tent on the left. The inside was simple, though like most wizarding tents, it had an expansion charm placed on it, so despite the outside appearance looking like it could fit two sleeping bags comfortably, the inside held two foldable cots, a kitchen area with stove, and even a separated room that had both a toilet and a sink with magically running water.

"Proudfoot and I have got to run recon around this area. Do me a favor, will you?" Tonks asked once they had dropped their bags onto their cots. "Madame Maxime says you can place protective enchantments over small areas. Think you can cover the clearing with what you know?"

"That shouldn't be a problem," said Hermione slowly. "Although they're very basic enchantments - if someone did try to get in, they wouldn't have a very hard time of it."

"That's okay," said Tonks, waving it off. "Like I said, there's less than a one percent chance anyone's still out here. The basics will be more than enough."

Back in the clearing, Hermione had equipped her wand in hand and began walking around the perimeter. Tonks and Proudfoot argued for a moment about which direction to head before Proudfoot gave in and followed Tonks to the west. Malfoy stayed stationed on the rock he had sat at earlier, watching Hermione carefully as she enchanted the area. He still, after all, had never gotten the chance to learn any defensive spells, despite Madame Maxime's advice.

"What's going on?" he asked her suddenly.

Hermione furrowed her brow. "I'm putting up protective enchantments, what does it look like?"

"No, not that," said Malfoy, rising from his place on the rock. "I mean, you force me into some civility pact but you've been cold to me for days now."

"Please, Malfoy," said Hermione, oozing with irritation. "I'm not in the mood." She had been cold to him? And he was upset? She had every right to be cold to him, the traitor, going about at night, conducting covert meetings!

"You know what?" seethed Malfoy. "I'm glad you're back to your senses. Now we don't have to pretend like we're anything alike anymore. God, how exhausting it at was getting!"

"I'm _so_ sorry you feel that way!" said Hermione with biting sarcasm as she whirled around to face him. "Please, by all means, go back to acting entitled and superior, Merlin knows you never stopped feeling it!"

"You don't have any clue how I feel, Granger, no clue whatsoever!" shouted Malfoy. "Always thinking you know everything - but I assure you, you don't know the smallest bit about me!"

"What is there to know?" She was screaming now too. "You've gone out of your way for six years to make me feel small, just so you can feel better, you've got a father who believes himself to be higher than the law and other people, and you were raised to be the exact same way!"

"That's it then, Granger? All your analyzations of me over the past few weeks led you to exactly who you thought I was from the start?" His tone was empty now, calm to the point of dangerous. "I'm tired of trying to prove myself to everyone. Here I was thinking you would be able to understand. Silly me. I'm going for a walk."

Hermione watched as the silver-blond head faded into the trees until it was no longer visible. She felt guilt like lead in her stomach. They were back to the start, and she was solely responsible.

 **A/N: I promise I'm not trying to procrastinate from the romance part of the story! It's all according to plan, I swear. Thanks for reading!**


	11. Chapter Eleven

**A/N: Thank you to GracefulPatronus for your awesome editing skills!**

Chapter Eleven - Things Go South (And Literally West)

The first day at Lake Geneva had been nothing like Hermione had thought it would be. The tension hung heavily in the air around the campsite, despite Tonks and Proudfoot's attempts to lighten the mood. Dusk was falling over the trees and Proudfoot had a fire roaring in moments. The day had been uneventful; after the Aurors returned, they separated into teams (Hermione and Proudfoot were together) and trekked through the woods for miles. She had been taught a Dark magic detection spell, which she had originally planned to use over Malfoy's things, but the thought seemed stupid now. Other than that, the exhausting trek had provided no results or clues of any manner, though Tonks and Malfoy had found a set of footprints that mysteriously vanished.

They all sat around the fire, watching as the chicken above it slowly cooked. Malfoy had chosen a spot on the opposite side of the fire from Hermione, and refused to acknowledge her existence. Tonks looked back and forth between the two of them.

"Alright, I'm just going to say it," she said loudly. "We left you two alone for five minutes and now you look like you might kill each other at any moment."

"Tonks, I don't think pointing it out will help any," said Proudfoot, shooting her a look which she promptly ignored. Malfoy stared at the ground and Hermione shifted uncomfortably on the log which she sat.

"I'm just telling them that if they act like this for the rest of the year, they're going to be miserable," said Tonks, prodding the chicken with her wand.

"I'm turning in for the night," said Malfoy suddenly, standing. Everyone looked up at him in surprise, but he paid no attention and was soon vanished into his tent. Proudfoot gave Tonks the 'are-you-proud' look before following Malfoy. Hermione couldn't imagine the Slytherin would be very open to consolation. She let out a sigh that had been accumulating over the course of the day before standing and heading over to Draco Malfoy's tent herself. Tonks looked on curiously, but made no move to stop her.

Inside the tent, Malfoy was sitting on the side of one cot, his head in his hands, completely still. Proudfoot sat on the other, facing him, with a hand on his shoulder. Hermione felt awkward in the doorway, walking into such an intimate scene, but Proudfoot looked up at her with an expression of relief.

"Can I have a moment with him?" she asked quietly. Malfoy made no signs of moving, though Proudfoot nodded solemnly and exited the tent. It was a brief debate in Hermione's mind whether to sit next to the blond boy or across from him. But the next moment she was beside the boy that she had yelled at just hours ago. He raised his head from his hands, looking worn, drained of all life. Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but both of their heads snapped to the entrance of the tent as Tonks and Proudfoot both came flying in, looking panicked.

"Draco!" Tonks cried, lifting an envelope in her hand. "Did you tell your father where we were staying?"

Confusion shot across Malfoy's face in pure innocence that at once Tonks, Proudfoot, and Hermione knew he hadn't. "Of course not!" he snapped, rising from the cot, heading towards the letter that was clearly from Lucius.

"An owl just delivered this," said Proudfoot quietly. "Even Dumbledore and Maxime wouldn't know where to send an owl to find us."

Malfoy clearly wasn't listening, too focused on ripping the letter open. His eyes read it hungrily and it was short seconds before he looked up in panic. "They know where we are. One of Karkaroff's scouting groups. They saw us, they've been tracking us. He - he wants me to-"

"Never mind that!" Proudfoot roared. "We have to get going!"

Hermione felt sickened; the only way Lucius Malfoy would know about Karkaroff's group would be if he had private correspondence with them, and what side he was on was no longer a gray matter. She just didn't know about Draco. There was no time for questions, though, as the next moment they were frantically using magic to put away the tents, to put out the fire, to gather everything into bags and leave the area.

"It's too dangerous for them, Tonks," said Proudfoot as he secured a bag to a broomstick. "We need to get them back immediately-"

A low laughter came from the trees, and Hermione and Malfoy froze, watching the rustling in the bushes in fear, before both Proudfoot and Tonks lunged at them, pulling them away. Tonks had a grip on her hand and Hermione could feel the familiar pull of Apparation, but before they could vanish, a Reducto Curse landed at their feet, sending the two women flying back. Hermione scrambled up, not knowing where her bag was, no longer caring. "This way!" shouted Proudfoot, beckoning at her wildly. Tonks was heading full force towards the figures that emerged from the trees, firing curse after curse and narrowly avoiding the ones returned. Malfoy was looking around wildly before spotting one of the Firebolts - he mounted it and was in seconds heading towards Hermione, the wind whipping at his face as he gained momentum. She didn't have the chance to do anything as his arm wrapped around her waist, yanking her onto the broomstick in front of him.

They bolted in between trees, desperately trying to escape the flashing lights coming from the Dark wizards' wands, but something was wrong, somehow the lights were shooting right past them still. Hermione dared a look back and was horrified to see two men on their abandoned Firebolts chasing them and casting curses.

"They're following us!" she screamed. Malfoy furrowed his brow.

"I know! Shoot back and protect us, Granger!"

Hermione fired the Reducto Curse as best as she could, though both men seemed to stay on their brooms, and she watched in terror as her curses hit trees and rendered them to splinters. She was desperately trying to cast the Shield Charm in between each fire she sent back, but it was all too much at once, and Malfoy was more than preoccupied with trying not to hit the trees they were swerving between through the darkness. They would lurch left and right, trying to lose the men, but the flashes lights from both sides made it impossible. Hermione had fallen into a cycle - Shield Charm, then Reducto Curse, then the Impediment Curse. The only one that seemed to be working was the Shield Charm and Hermione found herself desperately wishing Malfoy had had the time to teach her more curses.

Suddenly, one of the wizard's curses hit the end of the Firebolt, igniting it to flames.

" _AGUAMENTI_!" screamed Hermione, blasting the broomstick with a jet of water. The fire quickly simmered out, but now there was a rockiness to the smooth riding of the Firebolt that hadn't been there before.

"Hold on Granger!" shouted Malfoy, and then they were soaring upwards, out of the trees into the night skies. "I need you to take over the broom!" he yelled, then, "Just do it, Granger!" as he felt her hesitation.

Flying through open air was infinitely easier than through heavy forest, and Hermione's previous woes with broomsticks disappeared with the pressing matters at hand. Malfoy had an arm wrapped tightly around her middle to steady himself as he turned and fired far more effective curses at the men behind them.

"I got one of them!" he yelled, still firing away rapidly. It was then that Hermione saw a new figure emerge from the trees in front of them - someone had found the fourth Firebolt, and she desperately hoped it was Tonks and Proudfoot.

"There's someone ahead-!" Hermione interrupted herself with a bloodcurdling scream, and under Draco's hand he could feel warm blood blossoming from Granger and the nose of the broom lowering and lowering until they were spiraling downwards. He yanked the broom upright and tried to hold the girl in front of him on securely as she jerked about, screaming in pain as new cuts were tearing through her skin. He no longer had access to firing curses back, and one Reducto Curse was enough to blow the Firebolt into pieces, leaving Draco and Hermione tumbling through the air, hundreds of feet from the ground. He snatched wildly at the bag falling in the air before him, one that Proudfoot had attached to the broom, and before he could truly think of where to go, Draco drew the girl close to him, squeezed his eyes shut, and Apparated.

* * *

When he opened his eyes, they were on a hilltop that looked out onto a field of blood-red poppies. Hermione Granger was in his arms screaming, and as Draco had Apparated and felt as though he were pulled through a rubber tube, he had hoped it was all his imagination. But here was the girl, bleeding freely, and his hands were soaked. She had cuts, deep cuts, one on her cheek, two of the largest on her stomach, another one on her back, and four running parallel down her left arm, looking like she had been attacked by a clawed monster, not a human. Draco gripped his wand with whitened knuckles, thanking his lucky stars he hadn't let it plummet to the earth all the way in Switzerland. He only knew one healing spell to close such deep cuts as these, one he hadn't ever done and had only heard about briefly from Severus Snape, but it was all he could do - the bag he had grabbed was empty of any potions. But he had to act now - Granger was officially unconscious, due to blood loss.

" _Vulnera sanentur_ ," he breathed, the tip of his wand tracing the paths the cuts had made in her flesh. The bleeding began to slow, but not slow enough. Draco felt another wave of intense panic; he pulled the girl's shirt up, as sticky as it was with blood, and grimaced at the nightmarish image of her mutilated torso. If the situation hadn't been so dire, he felt he might've lost what little was in his stomach. " _Vulnera sanentur,_ " he whispered again - his voice was going, he had yelled too much on the Firebolt. Now the bleeding was no more than a trickle. Once more - " _Vulnera sanentur._ " Magical stitches were threading themselves through the wounds. Now he simply pointed his wand at her - " _Tergeo_." The blood that had dried on her skin and on her shirt was siphoned away to nonexistence. Draco pulled the thin cotton shirt back down, despite the wounds still dribbling crimson liquid; it was the best he could do for now, though he would have to routinely clean the wounds. Granger was still out of it, so he laid her gently in the grass and began to pace.

He was having trouble wrapping his mind around what happened; adrenaline was still coursing through his veins like fire. It was clear his father knew about Karkaroff's followers tracking him, and in his letter, which he had dropped at the campsite, his father warned him of the upcoming attack and told him that he wouldn't be harmed. This was the perfect opportunity for him to join forces with Karkaroff, but that wasn't what Draco wanted, not even a little. Draco cursed his father bitterly - he had ruined everything, surely he wouldn't be allowed back at Beauxbatons now, and certainly not Hogwarts either, and now that Draco had jumped on a broomstick with a Muggle-born and attacked Dark wizards, there wasn't even a place for him at _Durmstrang_. Not only that, but the aforementioned Muggle-born despised him, and thought him to be a traitor, and was currently inches away from death in blood loss. They had no means to get home - that was the first and only time Draco had successfully Apparated, and as he wasn't qualified, it was illegal. If he tried again, he wasn't sure it would work, and Granger couldn't risk be splinched at such precarious health. He had Apparated them to a place of his childhood memories, so he had no general sense of direction, other than that they were currently back in England. There was no light at the end of this dark tunnel. Draco sank into the grass.

He didn't know why the first place he had thought to run to had been the poppy field. His instincts normally would've sent him to Malfoy Manor, though he thanked his stars yet again that his subconscious had the sense to not put him in the path of his father, who wouldn't take well to a Mudblood dying on his lawn. The poppy field was somewhere he had only gone when he was little, a place for just him and his mother to walk among the flowers and have a picnic and to live simply in nature before returning to the splendor of the Manor. It was dark out, though the bright red of the flowers shown in the starlight. He cast a look towards Granger; he wanted to blame her, but as he tried, it felt wrong. Letting out a pent up sigh, Draco stood. He would at least make himself useful until Granger came to.

* * *

When Hermione's eyes first flickered open, the first she noticed was the excruciating pain shooting through her body. She winced, trying to sit up by propping herself onto her elbows, but quickly sunk back into the cot as the pain intensified. She felt as though her torso was tearing with every movement.

"Just rest Granger, everything's okay," said a voice - Draco Malfoy's voice, no less. She turned her head the left where the voice had come from to see a blurry image of the blond boy sitting by her side, watching her tiredly. "Have some water," he said, touching her chin lightly with his fingertips as he raised a canteen to her lips. It was warm, not very refreshing, but it was something, and Hermione was grateful.

"What happened?" she whispered hoarsely. "Where are Tonks and Proudfoot?"

"I don't know," said the boy quietly. "You got hit, and then our broomstick did too. We were falling and I had to Apparate us - we're somewhere in England, but I don't know where the others are. They'll be alright, though, they're Aurors."

Hermione stayed silent for a moment. "What happened to me?"

"Some sort of cutting curse," Malfoy replied grimly. "Real deep gashes, you've got eight major ones. You lost a lot of blood - sorry we don't have any pain potions, by the way."

"It's okay," Hermione choked out. "I'm just... Surprised."

"Why are you surprised?"

"I thought you were with them," she said simply, and could feel him stiffen beside her. "I thought you had given them secret weapons, I thought you were telling them information - I thought you would have left me to die."

"I know you did," Malfoy said gently, though he sounded strained. "I did give them something that was supposed to help them - two objects that my father gave to me, Dark Magic. But I duplicated them, they got the fakes. Madame Maxime has the real ones. I think they figured out they were fake; that's why they attacked me. Father said they wouldn't, but they did."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Do you regret it?"

He was thrown off by this. "No, why would I?"

"You could be safely in Durmstrang's castle at this moment, not stranded in the middle of nowhere with a horribly injured Muggle-born while Dark wizards track you down for revenge."

"I don't regret it, Granger," said Malfoy shortly. "The bleeding is starting up again, I'll need to clean the wounds." She felt his cold fingertips brush the the hem of her shirt and a wave of discomfort shot through her. He seemed to sense this. "Don't worry Granger, there's nothing sexual about cleaning out disgusting oozing cuts." He was right, of course, so she let him, curiously looking down to see how bad the damage had been.

This was a bad idea - she quickly moved her head to the side of the cot as vomit surged up her throat and out from her mouth.

Malfoy sighed. "Scourgify," he said, pointing his wand at the sick on the bed. It vanished without trace, though the bitterness was still in her mouth. He used a couple cleaning and healing spells on the gashes that he could reach. "I have to to turn you over now, there's a nasty one on your back." Hermione nodded bravely. "It's going to hurt," he warned her. She could only nod again. Malfoy did his best to be gentle in rolling her over, but there was no way for it not to hurt; she felt herself wince loudly, but soon enough it was over, and she was laying on her stomach. She could feel his cool hands on her back as he cleansed the last wound and resealed it.

"We'll need to get you some dittany soon if you don't want to scar," he said, carefully rolling her shirt back down and rolling her onto her back again - she clenched her teeth tightly in an effort not to scream. Given what little he had to work with, Hermione was surprised by Malfoy's bedside manner. He pulled up the covers around her, tucking them into the cot, and gave her another drink of water ever so gently, then moved a stray piece of hair from her face. She had no idea why he was bothering to be so gentle, though she wished she didn't have to be so dependent on him at the moment.

"Your father will find out," she said suddenly as her mind drifted back to his situation at hand. He froze.

"Yes, I suppose he will," he replied.

"What will he do?" she asked nervously. She was filled with concern for the suddenly-gentle Slytherin, and he was certainly between a rock and a hard place.

"I don't know what he'll do," said Malfoy. "But that doesn't matter right now, Granger. You need to get some rest and so do I, so we can get back to..." But he didn't finish his sentence. He seemed torn to say Beauxbatons or Hogwarts, and Hermione could see why he would feel out of place in either one of the schools.

"Okay," Hermione consented. "Goodnight, Draco, and... Thank you for proving me wrong." He returned a weak smile.

"Anytime, Granger." Draco blew out the candle and Hermione listened as he climbed into the cot next to her. She was mangled but she wasn't dead. Draco was troubled but he wasn't evil. It seems as though their stroke of misfortune ended positively in those regards, and as Hermione tried to sleep through biting pain, something told her Tonks and Proudfoot would be just fine, too.

* * *

Hermione had awoke the next morning feeling substantially better, though still searing in pain. At least now she was able to prop herself up, and swing her legs off the side of the bed, though she didn't dare stand until Draco was awake and available to catch her should she fall (and she had a feeling she would). She looked at the sleeping boy to her left in amusement - never in a million years did she imagine she would catch sight of the elusive Malfoy, completely unguarded in such a state. He laid on his stomach, his arm hanging from the cot and his head turned her way. She smiled lightly as she detected a hint of drool at the corner of his mouth. He was human, after all.

Between them, things wouldn't be going back to how they were. You didn't just go back to hating someone after they had saved your life, or you had saved theirs. It was like they said about people bonding over traumatic events - after all, hadn't her friendship with Harry and Ron only truly began when they locked her in a bathroom with a troll, and then saved her? She wasn't expecting this sleeping boy to become her friend, but something along the lines of mutual respect was growing between the two of them. He hadn't been nearly as awful to her as he used to be, and in turn she was beginning to trust him. He had brought her here, after all.

Speaking of here - where was here? Draco had said they were somewhere in England, but England was a big place. Hermione sat on her bed, looking at Draco intently and hoping he would wake up to settle her curiosity. It was soon clear that Draco was still completely out of it, and Hermione thought she might go insane just sitting there with nothing to do. Maybe her bag was around here somewhere, she had brought books - no, she had left her bag in the clearing when they were attacked. She decided that perhaps she could manage to stand, if she was very careful. If all else failed, she would just fall back onto her cot and be miserable until Draco woke up. Gripping the edge of the cot with both hands, Hermione pushed herself up, and had just bravely let go off the bed and let all her weight onto her wobbling legs before-

"AGHH!" she yelled as she toppled forward, swinging her arms desperately to balance herself, but it was of no use. Draco had just awoken in a start as he heard a scream when he felt Hermione Granger pressed against his back, wincing in pain. "I'm so sorry, I was just trying to-"

"I know Granger," said Draco in a groan. "You were desperate to get in my bed."

"No, I-" she began indignantly.

"Hold still, you're going to get us both hurt if you keep it up," Draco interrupted. He managed to turn himself onto his back, which wasn't too hard as Hermione was light, and trying her best to remove herself. "You're not in the right condition to be moving," he reprimanded, placing his hands lightly on her sides and pulling her to lay down next to him. She landed lightly beside him, cramped beside him on the small cot, eyes wide as she turned to face him. He was smirking at her, clearly satisfied she had made a fool of herself.

"Can you help me back to my cot?" she asked, swallowing her pride to ask the Slytherin for help.

"No," he replied shortly, adjusting the covers. "I'm not ready to wake up yet." And with that his grey eyes closed to go back to sleep. Hermione gritted her teeth.

"Fine," she said bitterly. "I'll do it myself."

As soon as the words left her lips, the blond boy's arm shot out and caught her swiftly around the waist, holding her close to him, though he was under the blanket and she was not. "Granger," he said in a warning tone. "I refuse to heal you if you reopen your wounds, so please, for both our sakes, just stay put."

Hermione was in a very awkward position, both physically and figuratively. She couldn't imagine anyone to be so lazy that they would rather snuggle with someone they had only just started to be civil towards than help them to their respective bed. As for the physically awkward part, Hermione was frozen, stick straight, unsure of what to do; Draco had one arm wrapped about her middle and his nose was lightly touching her ear as they shared the too-small pillow. She sighed - "At least help me get comfortable."

She could see his mouth turn slightly upwards out of the corner of her wary eye, and soon she was engulfed underneath the thick wool blanket with a boy who had been her enemy for years and years. She turned away from him, though it sent pain shooting through her, praying to whatever higher power out there that sense would snap Draco out of whatever weird mood he was in. However, his arm remained draped over her side, and she could feel his breath on the back of her neck.

"I'm not hurting you any, am I?" he whispered. It tickled.

"No," she whispered back, unsure of what else to say. She could feel his toes against hers and he was warm, and she could feel the morning chill leaving her skin. If she hadn't been so shocked by what was happening, she might've fallen back to sleep; it all felt cozy and nice, and her body seemed to stop aching the longer she lay there.

"I've decided something," said Draco after a moment. The words were carried by a serious tone.

"What is it?"

"I've decided to currently not give a damn about my father or his beliefs," said Draco confidently. Hermione felt her face contort into surprise, though he couldn't see it. "I'm starting to think you're alright Granger," he continued, sighing as though it took every fiber of being to say this. "You know, for being a Muggle-born."

The words sealed it for her - things would not be going back to how they were, not anymore.


	12. Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve - Draco's Got the Back-to-School Blues

"Come on, Granger, I've got you." Draco Malfoy was currently pulling the Muggle-born girl to her feet. She was unsteady, grimacing in pain he could only imagine, thinking how it could've just as easily been him hit with that curse. He briefly wondered if the girl would have saved him; of course, it was obvious. Self-righteous Gryffindors would always be heroes when they got the chance. Her left arm draped over his shoulders and she put her weight against him as he held her around the middle.

"If you let me fall-" she began to warn him.

"I know, you'll hex me, you've really got to come up with new warnings," he said dully. "It's not having the effect it used to."

"Yes, well," said Hermione through clenched teeth. "It becomes awfully difficult to be witty when your torso's been ripped to shreds."

"It's healing up nicely, if I'm allowed to commend my own healing expertise," said Draco, his lips curling in a mischievous smile. "I was almost glad to see you in just a bra this morning."

"Thank you for the warning - I think I'll be able to handle the healing from here," said Hermione, and Draco felt her stiffen uncomfortably under his arm. Perhaps it was too soon for him to make those jokes - after all, he had only just decided not to care about her blood status. "What's wrong with you this morning?" she asked, bringing him out of his thoughts.

"What do you mean what's wrong?"

"Never mind," snapped Hermione. Draco looked down, surprised to see her looking very irritated and red in the face. Ah, he reflected; it would appear that Granger wasn't feeling quite so touchy-feely as he was.

Hermione didn't know why she was overcome by a sudden wave of aggravation. Draco Malfoy usually aggravated her by calling her names and humiliating her, but now she felt irritated by his incessant contact. She couldn't think why, she had been perfectly comfortable falling asleep next to him just an hour ago - of course, that was it. Hermione wasn't irritated by his touch. She was irritated that she _wasn't_ irritated by his touch. It was all too much for the usually logical girl.

"Just show me where you've taken us," she said shortly, adjusting her grip on the pale boy, who had loosened his own grip, allowing her to become unsteady.

"Alright," he said quietly, steering them to the entrance of the canvas tent. "Don't be too mad that I haven't got a clue how to get back to school - I didn't have a lot of time to think while we were falling to our deaths."

When the fabric was pulled to the side by Draco's free hand, Hermione felt a rush of breath sharply inhaled in her lungs - the view was stunning. It was a cool day, but the sun was beaming down and they were on top of a hill that looked out for miles upon thousands and thousands of bright red, gleaming poppies. She felt as though she had been Apparated into one of Claude Monet's paintings. The cloud of irritation that had been hanging from her soon was spread away in the gentle breeze. "Beautiful," she breathed.

"I was worried you might only find the inside of a library beautiful," said Draco lightly. It was as though the girl had temporarily forgot he was there; she turned her face towards him sharply, concern flooding into her features once more.

"Where are we? We aren't near your home, surely?" Panic hit each note of the question. Draco shook his head, pushing back strands of blond hair that had fallen into his eyes.

"No, it's not close."

The bushy haired girl (though her hair was pulled back now) let out a sigh of relief. "If we're in England like you said, our best bet is getting to Hogwarts. Everyone's probably really worried if we're okay or not."

"Well," said Draco in a sullen voice. "They'll be worried about one of us."

Hermione saw his jaw clenching as he refused to meet her eyes. "Don't be silly, Draco. They know you were helping us."

"With my father exposing us like that? They'll have their doubts about me. Not that I blame them."

"Draco-" A sudden thought came to her mind. "What if your father shows up there? He can't be happy with you-"

"You, Granger, worry too much. He won't be showing up anywhere near Dumbledore after that move." Draco led them forward. "I don't want to think about him right now. He always finds a way to kill good moments. And I personally would like to go for a walk - if you're feeling up to it."

So they began a very slow descent down the hill and into the poppy field. Draco kept to his word of keeping Hermione on her feet. The long grass almost reached Hermione's waist and the smell that was coming from the flowers was overpowering, but still very pleasant. "This is so strange," she said. "It doesn't feel like reality, being where we are and well..."

"That I'm here and not trying to make you miserable?" Draco finished. "I do keep wondering if either of us sustained head damage - that would explain things, right?"

"I'm sure the trauma of the situation covers it well enough," replied Hermione. "Can we sit? I'm beginning to ache again." The soft ground was a relief to Hermione, though the reeds tickled against her skin. Draco sat a safe distance from her and began absent-mindedly tearing blades of grass from the ground. "Why here?" asked Hermione after a moment's silence.

"Don't know," said Draco honestly, looking out across the field.

"Have you had good memories here?"

"Yeah," replied Draco. "Loads."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Are you being sarcastic? I can't tell if you are."

This got a small twitch from Draco's lips. "I'm not being sarcastic, Granger."

"I'm sorry, but with you it's very subtle, and since most of what I've heard you say over the past six years has been, well, you know, I'm not really tuned to you being serious," said Hermione rather quickly. "With Harry, his sarcasm is _very_ obvious - he really only uses it when he's angry, and Ron always make a stupid face-"

Draco watched in fascination as Hermione began to ramble about her two best friends. It was difficult to see, from his perspective, why the three of them were all so jolly and close. He had plenty of friends himself, but Merlin knows he didn't feel particularly attached to any one of them. "Do you miss them, then?"

"Very much," said Hermione, sighing and resting her head on her knees. "That was my biggest reservation about the student ambassador offer - not even that I'd be stuck with a prick for the rest of the year." At this she shot him a quick grin. He returned it with an icy glare, though he didn't really mean it.

"My biggest reservation was you," he replied. "I wondered how I might survive being scolded all the time, because I certainly had no intentions of being a dutiful Head Boy."

"Oh I knew that," Hermione said. "It was easy to tell you were just going to laze about with those rich Beauxbatons students. At least it was going to get you out of my hair - and you wouldn't be bullying first years like you did as a prefect."

To her surprise, Draco barked out a loud laugh. "I forgot about that."

It was Hermione's turn to glare. "It wasn't funny!"

"You, Granger," said Draco standing, "need to lighten up. I promise I didn't do anything too traumatizing. Let's try to get back to Hogwarts now, okay?" His hand was outstretched to her to help her up. She took it reluctantly.

"I don't think much of people who take advantage of the weak," she said, now eye level with the boy.

"Well," said Draco slowly, halfway between serious and playful. "I haven't tormented any little ones lately, so you can go ahead and think the world of me."

"Let's just get back to school," said Hermione resolutely, ignoring him. "You Apparated us here, though we can't very well-"

"Apparate onto school grounds, yeah, I know," said Draco.

Hermione gaped. "You don't know how many times I've had to tell Harry and Ron that, and they still think it's an option. It even says so in _Hogwarts, a History_!"

"Well, some of us are a little less dense than Potter or Weasley."

"Don't talk about them like that!" Hermione said angrily.

Draco looked down at her, unbelieving, before he swallowed his pride. "Fine, sorry Granger. Anyways, Apparating - that was the first time I've done it. I wouldn't count on me to do it again."

"I think I can do it," she said, still a little heated. "We could try to get to Hogsmeade, and then walk back to the school."

"It's not a short walk, can you handle it?"

"We need to get back there today," replied Hermione coolly. "If I can't handle it, you'll just have to carry me."

"Fine - let's gather our things and get going."

An hour later, the tent was bundled up neatly in its bag thanks to Hermione's wand work, and what little they had with them was accounted for.

"Merlin's beard," groaned Draco as they took their last look out across the poppy field. "I haven't eaten since breakfast yesterday - maybe we ought to make a stop at the Three Broomsticks?"

"Keep focused, Draco," said Hermione, gripping his arm. "Here we go."

It was as though they were being pulled in by a vacuum; Hermione tightened her grip on the Slytherin as they whirled through space, and she soon felt the horrible feeling of bile rising in her throat. They hit the ground hard, and before either could check to see where they had landed, Hermione was retching on the cobbled road.

"Oh, _gross_ ," said an unfamiliar voice of a witch and Hermione saw a pair of purple heeled boots scurry around her. The place became clear around them as Draco hoisted Hermione up roughly by her arm. They were in the middle of the Main Street of Hogsmeade. Hermione would have been ecstatic that she had successfully managed to Apparate where it not for the fact that her wounds felt as though they had reopened.

"Am I bleeding?" she asked Draco. He nodded curtly.

"A little. Come on, let's get you inside."

So they were stopping at the Three Broomsticks after all. Madame Rosmerta, the busy owner of the pub, looked up to greet them cheerfully, but upon seeing them, a wave of concern flooded her features.

"Come to the back, that's it now, let's get you fixed up." She had taken Hermione's arm from Draco's grasp hastily and was steering her through the pub to a door in the back. Draco raised a pale eyebrow before following, ignoring the stares of the witches and wizards nearest. Hermione had been propped up on a shiny but worn leather couch, and Madame Rosmerta turned to Draco.

"Dumbledore's asked me to keep an eye peeled for the two of you," she explained. "If you'll wait outside, I can clean Miss Granger up-"

"He's been healing me in the first place," dismissed Hermione, grimacing in pain. "Nothing he hasn't seen." Madame Rosmerta's eyes widened in surprise at this - perhaps she had heard about the past animosity of the Gryffindor and Slytherin. Or perhaps she was simply shocked that a boy had seen a girl's exposed stomach.

"Even still," she said. "At least turn around."

Draco merely shrugged and turned to inspect a large painting on the wall of many figures dancing underneath trees. Shortly, he was allowed to take a seat next to Hermione and Madame Rosmerta bustled in and out of the room, bringing plates full of food, insisting that they eat. She wouldn't have Dumbledore thinking she let them starve under her care. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Hermione slowly ate some chicken.

"You got some on your face," he pointed out, watching in amusement as color rose to her cheeks and she wiped her face quickly. She shot him a glare.

"You haven't even taken more than a bite!" she exclaimed, looking at his plate.

"I'm not hungry," he said, shrugging it off.

"You were just complaining," she said, unbelieving.

"Well," he said coldly. "I'm not hungry anymore, so leave it alone, Granger."

She rolled her eyes - like she didn't know why he wasn't eating. He may try to be callous and apathetic on the outside, but she could see how nervous he was to return to Hogwarts, to be confronted and questioned by not only Dumbledore, but all his fellow Slytherins. Surely they had heard of what he had done - disobeyed his father, ran off to save a Mudblood. No, he wouldn't get off easy for that one. There would be hell to pay.

"Right," said Madame Rosmerta, entering the room once again. "If you're ready, I'm to lead you up to the castle now." Draco rose first, setting his untouched food aside. Hermione frowned at him as he did so, but followed suit.

The walk to Hogwarts from the bustling wizarding town was more strenuous than Hermione remembered as her footsteps landed on uneven stone. Her usual lean-against, Draco Malfoy, had been replaced by Rosmerta, who was far less sturdy, though she had insisted on propriety between the boy and the girl - as if a boy aiding an injured girl in walking was somehow improper. It was a relief to Rosmerta and Hermione both when they reached the edge of school grounds, where Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall were posted. Draco, however, was filled with a shot of panic - what if they kicked him out of school? Professor McGonagall in particular was looking grimmer than usual.

"Thank you for your assistance, Madame Rosmerta," said Dumbledore kindly. "I'm sure Mister Malfoy here will be able to escort Miss Granger from here, if you would like to return to your duties." The barmaid looked perfectly content with this arrangement now that Dumbledore had suggested it, and Draco found his arms full yet again with Hermione Granger. A strange feeling turned in his stomach to have his arms around the warm girl again, and her arm across his shoulders. It wasn't a bad feeling, either. The group of four began the ascent to Hogwarts before Dumbledore spoke again.

"We're very relieved that both of you are safe." He glanced towards Hermione as he spoke. "In a general sense of the word, of course. We will be leaving you under Madame Pomfrey's care before anything else is addressed." Draco wished for some acknowledgement from the Headmaster, something to tell him he wasn't in for an unpleasant afternoon, one that involved his expulsion. He couldn't bring himself to say anything though, as Hermione was the first priority. Under Madame Pomfrey, all traces of the curse would be gone within an hour.

They entered through the entrance hall, and Draco let of a low sigh of relief to see that the Hogwarts student body was currently in class. When they reached the winding, ever-changing staircase, Hermione insisted she could continue to walk, though after the first flight, the girl was nearly crying.

"Right," said Draco. "I'm going to carry you now." Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, as if to object, but Dumbledore gently lifted a hand to silence her.

"Fine," said Hermione, and was scooped up into the boy's arms, one arm supporting her back and the other underneath the crook of her knees. She refused to meet his eyes - how embarrassing it was to be carried about like a child in front of both Dumbledore and McGonagall. Strangely enough, she could have sworn Dumbledore had smiled at this development.

Upon entering the hospital wing, Madame Pomfrey rushed towards the girl with the velocity of a tornado. "This is a Dark curse, this is," she exclaimed, wrenching onto Draco's arm and pulling him, and in turn Hermione, towards an empty bed near the back. Around it were the clean white curtains to give privacy to the patient. Draco gently lowered the girl onto the soft bed.

"Thanks," she whispered before Madame Pomfrey rounded on him.

"If I'm going to heal these wounds, then you've got to leave!" she snapped, getting dangerously close. He stepped away from the bed, amused by her antics, and with a whirl, the curtains were snapped shut around her and Hermione, leaving Draco alone with Professor Dumbledore and McGonagall.

"I-" began Draco, suddenly filled with the urge to explain himself to the Headmaster, the wizened wizard who he had ridiculed ever since arriving at Hogwarts, the one he had called a Muggle-lover, a blood traitor, a fool among other things.

But the wizard simply smiled gently at him, eyes kind. "No need for that, Draco. Let's discuss things in my office. Minerva, if you would please inform Harry and Ron that Hermione has turned up and is being treated, it would be appreciated."

"Of course." Outside the hospital wing, Dumbledore and Draco turned to the right and McGonagall disappeared down the left corridor. The walk to Dumbledore's office was a quiet one; Draco couldn't think of what would be appropriate to say - should he apologize? Defend his actions? Condemn his father? But it seemed that the Headmaster wasn't interested in speaking until they had reached his office. The gargoyle that marked the entrance moved aside at the words, "lemon drop" and the Slytherin boy carefully followed the Headmaster up the winding stone steps.

"Take a seat, Draco, and feel free to eat," said Dumbledore, sinking into a chair behind his crowded desk. As he sat, a platter of sandwiches appeared at the edge of the desk, right before Draco's chair. He glanced at the food, still feeling quite ill.

"Professor, I... I didn't know he would do that." The words spilled forward from his mouth. He was talking about his father, of course, and in a similar way to how Dumbledore quieted Professor McGonagall, he lifted a hand.

"I understand, Draco," he said kindly. "You aren't in any trouble - in fact, many people owe you many thanks. You turned in very dangerous artifacts to Madame Maxime. You showed her the caution needed for the trip to Switzerland - Tonks wasn't originally part of the plan, though after you had come to her, she thought another Auror would be prudent. Things could've gone very poorly if not for you. You also saved Miss Granger, despite the differences between the two of you. You rescued her three times - once from Dark wizards, once from falling, and once from losing too much blood. And, perhaps the bravest thing you did - you listened to your heart, and did what you believed to be right, despite what the implications would be. You should be very proud of your actions, Draco. I myself am very proud of you."

"Sir-" Draco was having troubling getting any words out. "I don't think you understand. I didn't help anyone. I wouldn't have had to take Madame Maxime those objects if I hadn't brought them into the school myself. And I don't think I rescued Granger, I put her in more danger. She wouldn't have gotten hurt like she did had she remained with Proudfoot, he was calling for us to follow him and I ignored him. Maybe... Maybe I wouldn't have even done anything had those wizards not attacked me... My father sent an owl, he told me they were supposed to recruit me, that I could join them... If they hadn't attacked, I might've become one them..." He was staring at his hands, which were clenched tightly in his lap. He felt tears rushing to his eyes, burning as they came, but he wouldn't let them escape.

"You wouldn't have." Dumbledore's voice had become firm. "After all these years in my school, I have observed you, Draco. You don't have the potential to become evil, to become Dark. It's not because of weakness, it's not a matter of strength. It is because, Draco, you are good. You may not believe me, or perhaps you simply don't want to believe me, because of your familial circumstances. Often times, being good takes more strength and bravery than being evil."

"My family isn't evil," Draco whispered, now staring at the Headmaster.

"Be that as it may. But questions of good and evil aside, it is undeniable that your father asked you to join Dark wizards. And this, Draco, is far from goodness. I won't make any assumptions about the rest of your family, but I will not deny the truth of your father's intentions - nor should you. A blind eye to injustice is as unjust as the actions themselves."

Draco remained quiet - he had returned to staring at his lap. He knew what his father had done - why did everything in his mind and heart seemed to scream against it in defiance, though?

"Sometimes," said Dumbledore softly, "when the most important figures in our lives, the ones who hold the most influence over us, do things we don't agree with, we can find ourselves beginning to accept it. There's a need to stop estrangement from growing, and that presents itself as the easiest course. It becomes even more difficult when the future depends on that person. You might feel alone, going against them - exiled. Draco, there are people here who will not allow you to be exiled. People all around you - myself, Madame Maxime, Proudfoot, your professors, your true friends, your mother, even, I would venture to say, Miss Granger. Whoever you decide to be in the end is ultimately up to you - but I implore you, continue to explore yourself as you, not as your father."

"Is that all?" The Slytherin had raised his pale face, looking extraordinarily drained of all life.

"That is all. You and Miss Granger will stay here for the rest of the week while she continues to heal, though you won't be attending classes. You will find spare clothes in your dormitory. After the week, should you wish to return to Beauxbatons, Madame Maxime is eager to have you back."

Draco left the office, feeling lost more than ever.

* * *

The sky was starting to darken earlier than it had a week ago, Draco reflected as he rested with his back against the Forbidden Forest. Students were frightened to sit so close to the ominous trees, but Draco invited whatever was in there to come out and face him. He was in a foul mood, and anything to cross his path would come out worse for it. He had been desperately avoiding students all day, no matter which house. He didn't want praise from Hufflepuffs, commending him on 'doing the right thing', whatever that meant, and he certainly didn't want the looks of disgust from his Slytherin friends, the looks that accused him of going soft, of being weak.

Classes had let out an hour ago. Draco wondered about Hermione, if she was feeling better, if she was still in the hospital wing or back up with all her Gryffindor friends. Surely they would be exalting her as a hero. He tried to fill his mind with images of her surrounded by Potter and Weasley, back to being just as irritating as she had been the first day he met her, the trio feeling entitled, as though rules surely wouldn't apply to them. Yes, images of her parading around, chin held high in the air, Head Girl badge gleaming on her chest, feeling vastly more intelligent than anyone else. No, wait, no - that wasn't Hermione. That was what he had thought she had been, but he didn't think that anymore. It would be easier if you did, said something inside him. She won't like you, ever. Nature makes it so.

But what Dumbledore said still rung through his mind. The things that were easier weren't always right. Hermione Granger wouldn't exile him. It was time to stop sulking, to stop avoiding everything. He would go to the hospital wing.

It certainly wasn't empty when he pushed open the doors. Immediately an untidy mess of black hair and one of bright orange turned to him - Harry Potter and Ron Weasley had come to visit Hermione as well. She was sitting on the bed, looking cheerful, though Draco could spot the dark circles under her eyes. She looked up at him with her amber eyes and for a moment, he could only stare back at her.

It was until Potter opened his mouth that Draco remembered who was there. "What are you doing here, Malfoy?" questioned Harry venomously.

"Yeah," Ron chimed in. "Hermione needs her rest, not for you to come barging in."

"I don't know, Weasley," snarled Draco. "We were alone for quite a bit - maybe Granger's taken a liking to me."

"Yeah right," said Harry and Ron in unison.

"Alright, I'm not putting up with this right now," said Hermione, agitated. "Listen - Harry, Ron, you don't need to go into defense mode just because he's entered the room. Draco, please don't try to antagonize them."

"Draco? What, don't tell me you're on first name basis right now!" Ron exclaimed.

"He saved my life, Ron!" Hermione cried, leaping from her bed. "I think that constitutes first name basis!"

"Hermione," said Harry slowly, evidently trying to be the rational one. "Even if he did save your life... He's been tormenting you for years. There's a fair chance he only did for his best interests-"

"I don't care why he saved my life!" Hermione shouted. "The point is, he did! And as my best friends, I thought the two of you might have a shred of gratitude towards him for that!"

Harry and Ron were currently staring daggers into Draco. Of course this would happen - he had wanted to avoid everyone all day and when he finally felt ready to face someone, he had ran into the two people who hated him most.

"Actually..." said Hermione quietly. "Can everyone please leave me alone? I'd like to be alone right now."

"But-" started Harry.

"Please," begged Hermione. "I'm so tired and all of this is killing my head."

Draco found his feet rooted in place, even though Ron and Harry were heading towards the door, eager to respect Hermione's wishes. He couldn't go yet, he had needed her, and Potter and Weasley had ruined it, he had needed the comfort he got from being near her and now she wanted nothing to do with him. He had been desperate for all the heaviness brewing in his mind to evaporate as he sat by the girl, joking around and letting go of all the cares he held onto.

"Hermione, please-" he said, taking a small step forward. He didn't even catch that he had called her Hermione for the first time, though she did. Her eyes widened in surprise, but she was resolute.

"I'm sorry Draco, just... Not right now. I promise I'll meet up with you soon, and we can talk," she said, casting him an apologetic look. If there was one thing that Draco had always been right about Hermione, it was that she was stubborn as all hell. He bowed his head in compliance, just before a rather rash thought entered his head - there was someone else he needed to talk to, and if he hurried he could still catch them. Draco flung open the hospital wing doors and ran out into the hall.

"...I don't get why nobody seems to think he's bad, I mean, look at his-"

"POTTER!" yelled Draco, panting, his hands on his knees. The slim, messy-haired boy whirled around in surprise, hand stuck in his pocket, undoubtedly clasped around his wand. "Potter - I need to talk to you. Please."


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen - Strange Conversations

Harry Potter's eyes never strayed from the pale Slytherin as he hurried to close the door behind him. It was his insatiable curiosity that convinced him to be alone with Malfoy in an empty classroom, not Malfoy's begging. Ron would be just outside the door, ready to defend Harry at even so much as a hint of a shout, but the Slytherin had demanded Ron not be there, on account of tendency to attack without provocation. "It's for his own good, really," Draco had said. "The poor chap doesn't need to puke out slugs for the second time in his life."

"Right," said Harry brusquely, leaning against a desk and pushing his sleeves up to his elbows. "What do you want?"

Draco leaned against the desk across from him, but only for a moment. He soon began pacing. Harry was more than intrigued - since when did Malfoy show signs of being nervous in front of others?

"I suppose I want to talk to you about Granger," he said after a moment. "Hermione, that is."

"Hermione?" Harry let out a low whistle. "Didn't think I'd ever hear you talk about her without throwing out your favorite slur."

"Yes, that's just it - things have changed between us. I mean to say-" He caught the look on Harry's face. "I mean to say, things have changed with me. I can't speak for her, only, well, she calls me Draco now, so I suppose that's something-"

"Can you please just get to the point?"

Draco found himself glaring at Harry before he realized he was supposed to be playing nice. He continued to pace, the rhythm of his shoes against the stone floor keeping his thoughts steady. They were awfully muddy, his shoes. He only just realized. Right - the point, he needed to get to the point. What was the point?

"Never mind," he spat out after a very long pause. "This was stupid, forget it." He made towards the door, but Harry had lunged forward and caught his arm swiftly.

"No, tell me," he said angrily. "You dragged me in here, and if this has to do with Hermione, then I want to know."

Draco ripped his arm from Harry's grasp and stared at him. "It's not going to make any sense to you. You won't believe me."

"Just try me."

"I – I don't know if I exactly… hate her," he said, rubbing his forearm uneasily. "I'm not exactly sure what it means, not to hate someone that I thought I did for six years, I don't even really know if I like her, but… I'm just exhausted of you and Weasley getting up in arms for me just appearing, I mean, you do realize I practically live with the girl, right?"

Harry was gaping at him for an uncomfortably long time before he clenched his jaw tightly. "That's stupid, Malfoy."

"You're not the brightest yourself."

"And I don't believe you."

"You should."

"Why should I believe you? You've never given me a reason in all of six years."

Draco paused to contemplate this. "How much does everyone at school know about what happened?" he questioned.

"They know the two of you and a couple Aurors went to Switzerland and were attacked. By who, no one really knows, but there's wild speculation," said Harry. "There's some very unpleasant rumors regarding you."

Draco had prepared to hear this. "And how much do you know about it?"

Harry let out a sigh. "As much as I'd love to say I've gotten all the details, actually, just as Hermione was beginning to tell us, some ferret-faced Slytherin burst into the room and caused Hermione to kick us all out." He cast a glare at Draco. "That being said, she said you saved her life. You understand why I'd be skeptical, as it might've been your fault she was in any danger to begin with."

"I'm not as faultless as she might think," said Draco bitterly, still thinking of his actions regarding bringing Dark artifacts to school. "I blame myself for some of it, but Dumbledore's told me not to."

"Dumbledore said that?" Harry asked, clearly alleviated of some worry if the Headmaster didn't blame the boy.

"Yes," said Draco curtly.

"So you don't hate her. What's that got to do with anything?"

"During the course of everything that's happened since we arrived at Beauxbatons together, and especially in Switzerland and finding our way back here... Well, I suppose I've grown to appreciate Granger's skills as a witch... And her company." He attempted to smile lightly, but as per usual, to anyone looking, it seemed to be a smirk. Harry narrowed his eyes. "What?" Draco asked, dropping the attempted smile to cast a glare back.

"I can't decide if you're talking about being a pervert towards my best friend or not, that's what, Malfoy," Harry seethed.

"I'm not!" cried Malfoy innocently. "I'm just saying - well I'm trying to say – listen, I don't need to explain things to you! I'm only here to ask you to get off my case and stop being so bloody possessive over her!"

"Possessive?" exclaimed Harry, incredulous. "You're a twisted, entitled, elitist git and you want me to just stop looking out for my best friend when someone who's tormented her for six years all of a sudden 'doesn't hate her'? Hermione's brilliant, and I don't believe you when you say your motives are pure, that all you want is friendship and butterflies-"

"Listen, Potter," Draco interjected coldly. "I'm not asking for your permission to talk to Granger, she can make her own bloody choices. The only reason I'm speaking to you is because you're her best friend, and dense though you may be, you have some sense in you, and you'll give me the chance to show I mean what I mean."

"That can't be the only reason you dragged me in here," said Harry after a moment, much calmer, though venom still laced his voice.

Draco stared at him for a moment before releasing the breath he had been holding. He sank into a seat, shaking his head, running a hand through his silver-blond hair. "I didn't want to like the Muggle-born," he said so quietly, Harry only just caught it. His grey eyes met Harry's. "You have to believe me," he pleaded. "I really, really tried not to like her, and I don't know what to do now."

And there it was - the final piece of truth. Harry sighed before taking a seat next to the defeated, overwhelmed Slytherin. It was going to be a long, strange night. Outside the door, Ron Weasley had nodded off to sleep.

* * *

Hermione was tucked behind barriers of white cloth as she ran her hands over bare stomach. The wounds that had garnished her once-smooth skin had completely sealed up under Madame Pomfrey's care, but it had been too long between the initial attack and the use of Essence of Dittany to remove all the scarring. Now faint white lines converged into an X sort of shape on her stomach, and one across the expanse of her back. The ones on her arm and cheek had been shallow enough to fade completely.

"I've brought your spare clothes," said a voice on the other side of the curtains. Ginny Weasley's freckled hand popped up above the top, and in it were Hogwarts robes. Hermione quickly pulled them on, eager to leave the hospital wing. She was careful to reattach her gleaming Head Girl pin to her chest, and wrestle her hair back into a knot at the base of her neck. Pulling the curtains back, Hermione was startled to see not only Ginny, but Ron and Harry, who were both regarding her with a strange expression that she didn't quite comprehend.

"What?" she asked, looking down quickly to ensure she had dressed herself properly.

Ron opened his mouth to say something, but closed it with a warning glance from Harry. "It's nothing, Hermione. Let's go to breakfast."

The ensemble began their journey to the Great Hall, though Hermione kept a careful eye on the two boys next to her, who were constantly exchanging significant glances. Surely something had happened after she had dismissed them last night. Why did she have a feeling Draco was somehow involved? "I know it's not nothing, you know," she said to them suddenly, after Ginny had finished telling her about Snape's most recent nastiness towards Neville Longbottom.

"It's fine," said Harry, attempting to be consoling. "We were just surprised to see you on such friendly terms with Malfoy, is all." This, of course, was a half truth. The complete truth was, Harry had had an extremely enlightening conversation with his arch-nemesis and had promised the Slytherin not to mention anything he had said to Hermione Granger - though he had told Ron of course.

"He wants to be her friend after everything he's done to her over the years?" Ron had asked, just as unbelieving as Harry had been.

"He's just as shocked as us, I think," Harry had said in return.

Fortunately, this half-truth seemed full enough to Hermione at the moment. "Well," she began tentatively. "We've been through a lot together over a very short period of time, that changes things between people, you know?"

Harry and Ron attempted to nod understandingly, which raised the first red flag in Hermione's eyes. They were never understanding when it came to Draco Malfoy.

"I hope you're not thinking there's anything significant going on between us," Hermione said curtly, ignoring the first red flag.

"Of course not," Ron assured her. Second red flag - Ron was never reassuring, nor did he ever pass up the opportunity to call Draco some form of a prick. A typical response would have been, "Merlin, Hermione, don't make me vomit - you with that slimy piece of ferret dung?" She raised a skeptical eyebrow in Ron's direction. Harry gave him an only slightly discreet nudge to the ribs with his elbow.

She turned to Ginny, who was nearest to her. The red haired girl had been desperately trying to follow what all of the glances between the three of them meant. "They're up to something," Hermione mouthed at her while Ron and Harry were busy striding forward towards the Great Hall.

"I'll get it from Harry later," Ginny whispered to her quickly before quickening to catch up with the boys. Hermione decided to take her time.

* * *

Draco had returned to the Slytherin dormitory so late last night that everyone he had worried would confront him was already fast asleep. It came as a relief at first, but not knowing how they would react to him the next morning prevented him from sleeping any, really.

 _You saved that filthy Mudblood._

 _You defied your father._

 _You've lost everything that we value._

 _You're weak._

 _You're soft._

These were the things he had convinced himself he would have to take. However, the next morning, he sat up in bed, and to his right, Theodore Nott was pulling on a boot. He flashed Draco a smile, and he felt some of his panic dissipate. Other than the scrawny boy lacing up his shoes, the dormitory was empty.

"Good to see you survived it all," Nott said.

Something came to mind - words of Potter's, no less. There's some very unpleasant rumors regarding you. Unpleasant to the Gryffindor's ears was music to the Slytherin's. It was time to tread carefully.

"I'm curious," said Draco icily, swinging his legs off the bed and leaning forward towards Nott. "What's all been said?"

"Ah, where to begin?" Nott grinned, finishing his laces. "Nobody really knows much - around here, we've been told you and the Mudblood got caught up in some trouble in Switzerland, and very nearly escaped. Pansy's been absolute indignant that the Mudblood's been weighing you down, I assure you."

Draco felt his nose wrinkle instinctively. "She hasn't given up on me after the dance?"

"Of course not, she's infatuated, poor girl," Nott said, with no trace of sympathy in his voice. "But I know considerably more about what happened than the other students do."

It was at these words that Draco froze. Nott knew?

"Yes, that's right," said Nott, clearly satisfied with himself. "Your father sent a letter to mine. Lucius Malfoy doesn't seem very happy at all, does he?"

The gears in Draco's mind were turning rapidly - what sort of bloodsucking deal would he have to make with Nott to keep him quiet?

"Told my father all about that traitor, Karkaroff-" Draco was sure he must've misheard. Karkaroff, the traitor? His father was supposed to be calling him the traitor. Nott continued, "Said he'd struck a deal with him, very priceless artifacts in exchange for his loyalty and ensuring you a spot at Durmstrang. Was furious to find out he took the artifacts and then sent wizards to off you. Said it was all to reveal Lucius' true alliance to the Ministry - you know half of them would love to get dirt on him, like that blood-traitor Weasley. He said he had to pay off the Minister of Magic himself, it was all a very expensive hassle. Not that it makes much of a dent in the Malfoy fortune, eh?"

Draco was more confused than ever. He had expected the full force of his father's wrath, because there was no way he didn't know by now that Draco had made fakes, had tricked his own father, and had run off with a Muggle-born. But why was he covering for his son?

Whatever the reason was, it didn't bring any relief to him. Lucius Malfoy only had motives that suited his own purposes, and it wasn't a good place to be involved in his schemes and not know your role. Draco realized how he must look - confused and frozen. He contorted his face to a haughty expression.

"Karkaroff's a coward," he said disdainfully. "I'll consider myself lucky to not be his student."

Nott snorted. "Can't imagine the half-giantess is any better."

"Don't be daft," said Draco coldly, feeling slightly defensive. "At least she's got the sense not to organize an army against every European Ministry of Magic just to get some attention. It's not saying much if you're stupider than a half-giant."

"Even so," said Nott with a smirk. "She gets enough attention by being the only Headmistress in the world to be a brute."

"Right," Draco agreed, not agreeing at all. "I'm going to grab breakfast while I can. You coming?"

"No," sighed Nott. "Detention with Flitwick. Ah, I should warn you - the Gryffindors came up with some rumor that you tipped off Karkaroff's cronies to take care of the Mudblood for you. They're itching to fight."

"Perfect," said Draco through gritted teeth. Just what he needed.

To his relief, Draco had slept in so considerably that the Great Hall was nearly void of all students, who were taking advantage of the last mornings of sunshine before winter hit. He only scanned the room once, and it was enough to conclude that Granger, Potter, and Weasley were nowhere to be found. He had wanted to catch sight of Hermione, even if he didn't get the chance to speak with her, but the one other person he was eager to speak with was right where he needed him. Dumbledore sat at the Head Table, spreading jam generously over some toast as he chatted merrily to Professor Snape, who looked bored.

"Professor Dumbledore, sir," he said as he approached the Headmaster. Snape looked at the boy in surprise. It wasn't often to see Draco Malfoy going out of his way to speak with a teacher, much less the Headmaster.

"Ah, Draco!" Dumbledore greet warmly. "I'm glad to see you in finer spirits this morning."

"Yes, well," said Draco. "I've got some questions concerning my father." Snape's black eyes were watching him with intrigue, Draco could feel them.

"Of course you do," said Dumbledore gently, before turning to Snape. "I do wonder if you'll excuse us, Severus." The Headmaster began to rise from his seat.

"Stay seated, Albus," said Snape, quickly rising. "I need to prepare for class anyways." Dumbledore sent him an appreciative nod as he stalked off. Draco made sure no one was in earshot before beginning.

"Nobody knows what my father did," seethed Draco.

Dumbledore seemed very focused on spreading his jam. "Yes, this is true."

"Why?"

"I'm afraid your father has a way of getting people to think what he wants them to think," said Dumbledore, looking up from his food.

"Bribing, you mean," said Draco coolly.

"Certainly money is of no object to Lucius," Dumbledore agreed, humming. "But he is also a very powerful man, with very powerful friends. He has a large influence; it doesn't take much convincing for him to alter the truth of things."

"He hasn't sent me anything - he covered for me, my house still thinks I'm just like him, they still think I'm in his favor, but there's no way I can be-"

"Lucius Malfoy has something up his sleeve, that much can be detected," said Dumbledore abruptly, casting a glance over Draco's shoulder. "But we'll wrap up this conversation for now, I think Miss Granger is wanting your time."

Hermione was just as surprised as Professor Snape had been to see Draco seeking session with Dumbledore, but she still felt she ought to approach. After all, she didn't know when she would bump into Draco again. Things had certainly become more complicated since they had arrived at Hogwarts. The student body didn't know the full details of what had happened in Switzerland, meaning everyone was more or less still under the impression that Draco hated Hermione, and Hermione hated Draco. Of course, she didn't know exactly where to pinpoint their relationship right now. Her expectations on how Draco would treat her now that his gang of Slytherins would be around to scrutinize his every move were very low.

"I was wondering if you'd like to join me on a walk," said Hermione after Draco had detached himself from the staff table. She just barely caught the twitch from the corners of his mouth as he turned away to gaze out at the Great Hall.

"If I must," he sighed, and they began to their walk.

"You called me Hermione yesterday," she stated, though her eyes carried the question. Why?

Draco merely shrugged, much to her annoyance. "Guess so."

"Well, I know why," she said sharply. "Even if you haven't come to terms with it."

"And what's that?" He turned to her, and for the first time that day she really, truly got a look at the boy. He seemed even paler than usual, sleep deprived as dark purple circles smeared under his eyes - he seemed fragile.

"Have you eaten? Please tell me you've eaten since Madam Rosmerta's."

"I don't need you to play mother, Granger," he said icily, casting her a reproachful look. "Though I do know much joy you take in being bossy."

"You're right I do," she stated, grabbing his arm and wheeling him back around to the Great Hall. He gave a grunt of protest, so Hermione added, "Listen, I'm not having you pass out while we're walking, or I'll just leave you there. So cooperate, won't you?"

He mumbled something under his breath that she couldn't quite work out, but was soon trudging his feet alongside hers. However, he soon wrapped his long fingers strongly about her arm as she led him to the Gryffindor table, and pulled her away while rolling his eyes. "I'm not feeling that amicable yet, Granger." To her surprise, he led them to the Hufflepuff table where they sat at the end, across from one another.

"Hufflepuff, huh?" she questioned, a light smile forming at her lips. "Thinking you might be a better fit here?"

This induced the second eye roll from Draco. "Let's just eat and get on with it."

"Um, Draco?" asked Hermione.

He looked up from piling eggs onto his plate, eyebrow raised. "Yes?"

"What would you do if one of your Slytherin friends entered the Great Hall right now and spotted you eating with me?" she asked nervously. The boy looked panicked for a moment, dropping his fork and looking towards the entrance of the hall. Sure enough, he just caught sight of Theodore Nott slinking from sight, a disgusted look plastered on his face. Hermione watched anxiously as the pale boy in front of her glowered at the place Nott had been standing for a few drawn out moments.

"I suppose it was bound to happen sooner or later," said Draco simply, returning to his eggs. Hermione, however, could detect a hint of concern in his body language - his hand was now gripping his fork rather forcefully, and the eggs on his plate had the misfortune of being impaled to bits repetitively before the boy finally brought some to his frowning mouth.

"Would it happen sooner or later?" Hermione decided to question, ignoring his discomfort for the time being. "I mean, your friends don't exactly feel fondly towards me, to put it lightly."

Draco gave a bitter laugh. "That's lightly indeed," he said, then became quiet for a moment. Hermione found herself very still in waiting for him to speak again. "We're Head Boy and Girl - it's not that strange we're talking together."

Hermione had expected him to say something along these lines. Sure, it was all very well and good, as they had only been back to Hogwarts for a day, but she knew Draco hadn't felt the full pressures of his friends yet. They would ridicule him, shun him, treat him like he was either mad or a traitor. She wasn't sure if the Draco Malfoy she knew could endure that - even if he was surprising her everyday. She certainly didn't think it likely considering her and him weren't even friends. Who would reasonably ruin their existing friendships in exchange for tolerance and civility with an old enemy? She wouldn't, even though it was hardly worth comparing her friends to the beasts that Draco hung around.

"I know you don't trust me to keep up being civil," said Draco, watching her as she didn't reply. He laid down his fork gingerly, pushing his plate forward and swinging his legs from his seat. Hermione rose to join him, and the two began to walk. "I'm beginning to notice that the more time we spend apart, the more cautious you begin to be around me again. Did Potter or Weasel say something?"

Was that a shade of concern in his voice?

"No," sighed Hermione. "I had expected them to goad me for all the details this morning, you know, about our trip, but they were surprisingly uninterested." She cast him a suspicious glance. "Would you know any reason why that is?"

"Ah," said Draco, holding open the Entrance Hall door for Hermione, revealing the sunny fall morning. She shivered as a bone-chilling breeze hit her, pulling her robes tightly around her. "That would be because I've already disclosed to Potter what happened, and I'm assuming he told the Weasel."

"You talked to Harry?" blurted out Hermione in surprise, stopping in her tracks. "And it didn't come to fighting?"

"Shocking, I know," said Draco, rolling his eyes. He continued to walk without so much as a glance in her direction; irritated, Hermione jogged a few feet to catch up. They seemed to be on steady course towards the lake. "Listen, there's something I need to tell you," he interjected suddenly, as Hermione had opened her mouth to question the nature of his discussion with Harry.

"Go on..."

"My father's covered up for me," said Draco, looking straight ahead, steely-eyed.

"What?" Hermione was incredulous. "But you blatantly defied his orders! Not to be rude or overstep any boundaries here, but your father doesn't exactly strike me as the forgiving type, not even for his only son-"

"I know." Draco's jaw was clenched tightly and Hermione found herself having to take considerably longer strides to keep up with his quickening pace. The boy seemed to be in determined thought, and walking propelled it. "I heard it from Nott this morning - only now Nott knows things are friendly between us, so I wouldn't be surprised if he's grown suspicious."

"Have you told Dumbledore? Was that what you were saying to him earlier? What did he say?" Hermione couldn't help but bombard him with questions.

"I told him, not that he was much help," replied Draco coolly. "He already knew, of course."

"But why is your father acting so passive about all this? There has to be a reason, surely," Hermione said, stopping to get a bearing on her churning mind.

"Perhaps the reason is that he simply is revolted by his son's attempts to ruin the Malfoy name by being a weak, defiant child who runs about with dirty little Mudbloods such as yourself."

Both Hermione and Draco felt their blood freeze at the voice of none other than Lucius Malfoy himself. Hermione watched as the pale boy drained of what little color he possessed as he swung around to face his father, who held a murderous expression unlike any other.

"What - what are you doing here?" His usually confident tone had vanished, replaced by one of sheer terror. Lucius Malfoy took a step towards his son, face contorting into disgust as he looked him up and down. Hermione felt herself gripping her wand within the depths of her robes.

"You've disappointed us more than you'll ever grasp in that feeble brain of yours, Draco. You won't be returning to school again, here or Beauxbatons - I'm bringing you home."


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**A/N: Sorry it took longer for me to get this chapter out! Temporarily got caught on a snag, but I think it's fixed now. Thanks for reading!**

* * *

 **Chapter Fourteen - Trouble in Paradise**

It was Draco's turn to look murderous.

"The bloody hell you are," he scoffed at his father, taking a step back. Hermione shifted uncomfortably on the balls of her feet, watching from the sidelines as the older Malfoy stared daggers back at the younger - it was hard to say which looked more frightening in their rage. The wind had been tearing at Draco's usually neat white-blond hair, blowing it into his grey eyes, which were so void of warmth, Hermione felt herself pull her robes tighter. She glared contemptuously at Lucius; for a few blissful weeks she had grown accustomed to not hearing the foul word Mudblood, yet here he was and her supposedly dirty blood was beginning to boil. She still had her fingers clamped about her wand, and for good measure - Lucius moved so fast that even Draco hadn't had the time to react. His father had his hands on either side of his shoulders, one simultaneously gripping his wand, slamming Draco against a tree with a dull thud. Hermione whipped out her wand, aimed, and-

The slender piece of vine wood flew from her hand in a steep arch as Lucius jerked his wand towards her violently, securing his hold on Draco by pressing his forearm tightly against his neck. "Stay out of this, girl," he snarled, returning his wand to his son. Draco promptly spat in his face, provoking a sharp, knuckle cracking strike across his mouth. Blood was now dripping from Draco's lower lip - it had been split by the ring on his father's finger. Hermione lunged forward, spotting her wand near the base of the tree, but in the split second before she had reached it, she decided to instead latch onto Lucius' arm that was currently blocking air from entering Draco's lungs. She wrapped both her arms around it and dropped her full weight on it, attempting to wrench it from Draco's throat. "Let go of him!"

"'Ermione - don't!" Draco choked out with what little air he had. But it was too late; Hermione soon felt the full force of a grown man's hand against her cheek and the hardness of the metal ring against bone. She toppled onto the ground, screaming as she felt a feeling quite like fire erupt across her face. For a moment, everything was blurry, and her head was spinning so violently and felt so heavy she was sure it would come off. But then she remembered - her wand was within reach. She crawled towards it, desperately trying to ignore the searing pain from her cheek, and fingers extended, she almost had it, the very tips of her fingers were touching the wood when -

 _THUD_.

The wind was knocked out of her, and she was sprawled out in the grass now, pulling in her limbs and trying to block yet another swift kick to the stomach, but she was choking on air, her organs didn't seem to be working properly; they had deflated from the impact.

"I SAID STAY OUT OF THIS, MUBL-"

Lucius Malfoy was not allowed to finish, as he was soon blasted into the air by a flash of red light, and Hermione could just make out Draco, on his knees and one hand on the ground, with another hand equipped with his wand, pointed at his father, who was now on his back on the ground. Draco made an uneasy attempt to stand, but stumbled back to his knees, and it was getting to be too late, Lucius was getting up again, and from his expression, neither Hermione or Draco would be much longer for the world.

"That's enough, I think," said a quiet but resolute voice that unmistakably belonged to Albus Dumbledore. Hermione watched, trying to sit up as Draco edged towards her to help, as Dumbledore raised his wand lightly and beautiful silvery lights swirled around in the air for a moment before wrapping themselves around Lucius Malfoy's wrists. "You are no longer permitted on school grounds or within reasonable proximity of school boundaries - any violation of this will be taken to the Wizengamot where you will face time in Azkaban - do I make myself clear, Lucius?"

It was the closest Hermione had ever seen Professor Dumbledore get to losing his temper. His eyes were cold, casting a much different glow to his being than his usual friendly twinkle, and Hermione could understand the look of fear that flashed across Lucius' face, though he deserved it. Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall were not far behind the Headmaster, and Hagrid had just come from his house after hearing the commotion. Seeing what had happened to Hermione, his dark eyes were burning in rage towards Lucius.

"I'm allowed to visit my son," snarled Lucius, twisting in his bonds. "And I'm allowed to withdraw him from school at any point that I feel his education isn't living up to my standards-"

"Your rights as a parent do not extend to physical force, neither upon your son or a student completely out of your scope of authority. That being said, Draco is also free from this scope, as he turned seventeen this past June," Dumbledore said sharply, prodding the venomous man forward with his wand.

"Yeh could've killed 'em!" roared Hagrid, now rising to his full impressive stature. Draco had managed to catch his breath and was currently helping Hermione sit up gingerly, one hand resting on her back and the other gripping her hand to steady her.

"Are you okay?" he breathed into her ear, just barely brushing her cheek with the back of his fingers. Hermione winced.

"You're the one bleeding," she whispered, as the crimson of the blood contrasted strongly against the paleness of his skin. It was steadily dripping, droplet by droplet, down his chin and onto the once-white collar of his shirt.

"Hagrid, please escort our students to the infirmary. I assure you Lucius will be dealt with swiftly and justly," instructed Dumbledore, steering Lucius away. The latter twisted to get one last look at his son, who was still aiding Hermione.

"So this is what you've chosen," Lucius spat. "You pathetic-"

"That's enough," hissed Professor McGonagall, and to everyone's surprise, she waved her wand so that though Lucius opened his mouth, no words came out. He looked positively enraged.

"A great improvement," said Snape icily. "I'll contact the Ministry immediately."

Dumbledore nodded in approval and soon he, McGonagall, and Lucius Malfoy were out of sight. Hagrid had scooped Hermione up in his expansive arms and Draco managed to stand and walk beside them, heading back up to the castle. Hermione felt an overwhelming sense of déjà vu; how many times would she be going up to the castle all tattered and beaten? A sudden memory popped into her mind of the third year when Hagrid had carried Draco up to the infirmary in a similar fashion after Buckbeak had cut his arm. A small smile flickered at the edges of her mouth despite the seriousness of what had just happened.

"Can' believe he would hurt the two of yeh like that," muttered Hagrid under his breath. "Not e'en from Lucius Malfoy, I can' believe it."

Draco remained silent.

* * *

On his way down to the dungeons to the Slytherin common room, something happened to Draco Malfoy that he never imagined would be possible. Two looming shadows emerged from the wall and standing before him were the towering, glowering figures of Crabbe and Goyle. He couldn't quite tell if it truly were leers on their stupid faces, as it was quite often they looked as though they might have an upset stomach.

"Merlin, you two really ought to learn not to lurk about in the dark," said Draco nastily. "Might give the first years nightmares about dungeon trolls."

"Har har," said Crabbe in what Draco suspected was meant to be in a sarcastic tone, though it resembled his ordinary laughter strikingly. "We heard what you did, Draco."

"Wow - congratulations on managing to remember it for more than two minutes," Draco mocked, attempting to push past the oversized boys to reach the common room. However, the gap between them closed rather quickly, and Draco found them towering over him close enough to see the crumbs on Goyle's top lip.

"We heard you've got nice and friendly with the Mudblood," Goyle said slowly, whether for dramatic effect or sheer stupidity, it was unclear.

"Yes, because I had the decency to save the girl's life, I'm sure I'll be inviting her around for the holidays to meet mum," snarled Draco, clenching his fingers about his wand.

"Blaise told us-"

"Zabini then? That's who you've chosen to follow about while I've been away?" The pale boy snorted. "I suppose it was a bit optimistic of me to expect either of you to formulate thoughts for yourselves."

Crabbe and Goyle both blinked heavily before registering what he was implying. With impressive force, Crabbe's meaty hands shoved roughly against Draco's chest, sending him stumbling backwards. He only just caught himself from hitting the damp stone wall behind him with his left hand, and in his right he brandished his wand.

"Petrificus totalus!" Crabbe and Goyle's monstrous bodies fell to the floor in a reverberating thud. "You two must have dragon dung for brains," Draco snarled at them as their wide eyes followed him. He has just stepped over them to head to the common room, before he remembered to do one last thing.

After a swift kick was delivered to each of them, Draco felt content enough to face whoever would be waiting to attack him next.

* * *

Hermione was in the library, clutching a bag of ice to her cheek while Ron was leaning back in his chair precariously and Harry was on the tail-end of a long rant about Lucius Malfoy.

"Right," said Ron tiredly. "It's been decided - Lucius Malfoy is a git, we've always known that."

"Yes, but he's never attacked Hermione before!" said Harry heatedly.

"I'm fine, Harry," assured Hermione. "After all, he didn't show up just with the intentions of smacking a school girl in the face. It's Draco we need to worry about."

At this, like all mentions of the Slytherin, Harry and Ron exchanged a significant look. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"When are you two going to tell me what's going on? You're rubbish at hiding it."

"I reckon Malfoy's gone mad," said Ron resolutely, nodding his head. "I mean, for everything he's done to you, he's being awfully chummy, don't you think?"

"Good to know that for someone to warm up to me they must be mad," said Hermione stiffly. "Look - he's been through a lot. Teasing me probably seems like a waste of time in retrospect."

Harry released a loaded sigh. "I'd like to see how he treats you after being reunited with those Slytherin ghouls. Then we'll see just how mad he is."

Ron nodded his head in frantic agreement, both boys oblivious to the look of outrage on Hermione's face. "Help us with our essays, Hermione?" he asked innocently, leaning forward so that all four legs of the chair hit the ground with a bang.

Hermione shot him one last murderous look before pulling out her parchment and spare quills.

* * *

"I ought to warn you, there's a fair risk of you being murdered in your sleep tonight," said a drawling voice that had just entered the boys' dormitory. Draco didn't bother turning to look at Theodore Nott.

"Right, because I didn't sacrifice Granger or an entire school to a maniac," spat Malfoy, falling backwards onto the bed which he sat.

"Don't be daft, no one gives a bloody damn about the Mudblood or those French kids," said Nott, sinking onto the bed across from him. "All that's important is that we all keep on your father's good side - which you happen to be opposite from. Not to mention I had to climb over Crabbe and Goyle to get here. Cursing your own housemates? Nobody will take to that very well."

"You're absolutely right, next time I'll just let my father pummel the shit out of me, and then let Crabbe and Goyle finish me off," snapped Draco irritably.

"Who knows, you might be better off for it," said Nott, shrugging. "If Daddy Malfoy doesn't pass on the Malfoy inheritance to you, your whole future is fucked."

"Shut the hell up," hissed Draco.

"Just listen - I don't give a damn what you do with the Mudblood or what problems you're having with dear old Lucius. I'm just telling you now, I won't be helping except for one piece of advice: try to find a new place to lay your head at night, because those two brutes you petrified outside aren't going to having a slumber party with you after what you did. I wouldn't put it past Zabini to poison your pumpkin juice and Parkinson's already spreading the unfortunate news about the size of your-"

"As if she's ever been near it!" exclaimed Draco, sitting upright in outrage. Nott looked thoroughly amused.

"Right - don't worry about being killed in your sleep or poisoned at dinner. Just you worry about the dignity of your manhood." Nott was rolling his eyes heavily. "I'd talk to Dumbledore if I were you. Maybe he'll let you go back to Beauxbatons early."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Why are you so eager to keep me out of harm's way?"

"What these other idiots don't realize," said Nott haughtily, leaning back onto his elbows, "is that the key to success is to remain on everyone's good side. Lucius Malfoy won't think I'm defying him by being chummy with you, and you can't be hostile towards me when I'm the only one in these dungeons who isn't trying to make your life hell."

Draco eyed the boy warily. "It's a shame neither of us has a sentimental bone in us - we might be good friends otherwise."

Nott snorted. "Oh, I think one of us definitely has some sentimentality."

* * *

The Great Hall seemed to be roaring that night as Hermione took a seat squashed in between Ron and Harry. The former was piling his plate high with mashed potatoes, and the latter was waving to Ginny as she entered the hall. Since Hermione had returned to Hogwarts, she found herself swarmed by students asking how Beauxbatons was. She found the attention overwhelming, although she could tell Ron was rather enjoying answering for her.

"My brother Charlie's there, of course," boasted Ron to Seamus and Dean. "Training a Portuguese Long-Snout to defend the castle. Impressive, really, their security measures. Hermione thought she was going to be eaten when she first saw it, didn't you Hermione?"

Hermione, however, was not listening. She found both her mind and her eyes raking over the Slytherin table in search for the familiar white-blond hair of Draco Malfoy. Despite the deafening chatter reverberating from the stone walls of the hall, the Slytherin table seemed oddly quiet at one end, where the sixth and seventh years sat. Groups seemed to be clustered together, hunched low and talking quietly among themselves, a strange sight from their usual pompous and loud conversations. One weedy boy sat at the very end of the table, and Hermione froze before quickly turning back around in her seat. Theodore Nott's eyes had locked with hers, and seemed smugly satisfied to see her searching for Draco. She didn't have a clue as to why this exchange filled her with such discomfort, but surely it was nothing more than Nott's general unpleasantness towards her as a Pureblood elitist. And where on earth was Draco Malfoy? Had the Slytherins turned on him after hearing what happened with his father? She couldn't imagine anyone taking Lucius Malfoy's side when he had attacked two Hogwarts students.

Hermione was quickly startled from her thoughts when she realized Harry had scooted away from her to squeeze in Luna Lovegood, who had joined the table. A strange smell seemed to waft from the girl and Hermione quickly traced it back to a ring of purple Shrivelfigs about her neck.

"Don't worry," she whispered to Hermione. "It's just an experiment."

"Hello Luna," greeted Hermione tiredly, not entirely sure if she was ready to commit to a conversation with the spacey girl.

"I remembered the other day my father telling me about a rather large amount of Demiguise living in the south of France," said Luna dreamily, eyes glazing over as she considered these fantastic beasts. Hermione raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Oh?" She wasn't doubting the reality of the Demiguise, they had been thoroughly covered in _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them,_ she just didn't recall any mention of the creatures residing in southern France, rather that they preferred Asia.

"We've never gotten the chance to see one, you know," Luna continued. "My father would be thrilled if I could record one for him - maybe even get some fur if I'm lucky."

"Well," said Hermione slowly, eager to not offend the girl. Her voice was rather disconcerting when it lost its dreamlike quality - Hermione had learned that in the fifth year. "They're supposedly nearly impossible to find - since they can turn invisible."

"Father's got an interesting theory that spectrespecs might be able to spot them," explained Luna, and for good measure she had brought out a pair of the multicolored glasses and set them eagerly on the table. "I'm anxious to test his theory - after all, if they can spot Wrackspurts, why not Demiguise?"

It was all Hermione could do to stop herself from snorting; she soon found herself drinking heavily from her goblet of pumpkin juice to preoccupy her skepticism. When she lowered the cup, Luna's perturbing eyes were pouring into hers expectantly.

"I suppose you'd like to visit Beauxbatons with me, then?" Hermione questioned uneasily. A smile spread across the Ravenclaw's face.

"If it's alright - maybe this weekend?"

"Uh, sure, Luna," said Hermione quickly, and returned to her food, all too aware of the wide smile on Luna's beaming face. She was a nice enough girl, that much Hermione couldn't deny, but if there ever was a polar opposite to Hermione Granger, it was Luna Lovegood. Hermione's mind strictly dwelled in proven, hard-evidence, whereas to Luna Lovegood, everything and anything was a possibility. It was like she couldn't see reason and common sense. Ron, who had caught the tailend of the conversation, shook his head in disbelief that the two girls would be willingly spending time together according to their own devices.

After dinner was over, Harry, Ron, and Hermione, full of food, meandered back up to the seventh floor towards the Gryffindor common room. It was all very distracting, being back at Hogwarts for what was going to be full days at a time, but even still Hermione found herself scanning the Great Hall as she left for Draco Malfoy, and peering down side corridors when she didn't spot him there. Her mind was racing with questions as to where he could be - and then she found herself wondering why she was so concerned.

 _He hasn't had it easy,_ she told herself forcefully. _His father turned out to be a maniac and I'm sure his housemates aren't taking well to him._ If she only knew whether he was okay or not, she would feel much better. No matter how she felt about it, Draco Malfoy had proven to her when he had saved her life that he could be a good person.

When the three had reached the common room, Hermione took up Harry's Transfiguration textbook (as all her books were currently at Beauxbatons or somewhere in the Alps) and curled into the armchair next to the fire. She fell asleep with the book under her fingertips and Draco on her mind.

* * *

Stooping down to exit the fireplace, Draco Malfoy felt a rush of relief that Madame Maxime was not waiting to meet him in the Ambassadors' common room. He had grudgingly taken Nott's advice on staying out of the way of Slytherins and seeing about going back to Beauxbatons, and Professor Dumbledore had approved this request without reservance. The pale boy was exhausted - far too much had happened over the course of a week than anyone could handle properly. He didn't waste anytime throwing off his robe and tie and unbuttoning the top button of his shirt as he sunk onto the sofa, sighing as his feet obtained relief from pressure. His eyelids were heavy as he looked at the warm fireplace, and Draco was almost asleep when something on the coffee table caught his eye - a book, with a note on top.

Impatiently, Draco brushed the note off before reading it, curious as to what the book was. Perhaps Granger had left it here before they went to Switzerland? The title scrawled across the leather cover in curly red letters, reading _Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles_ by Wilhelm Wigworthy. Before he realized what he was doing, Draco snorted and tossed the book back carelessly onto the table, landing heavily on top of the little piece of parchment that had been ignored by the boy. He was just about to lean back into the sofa again when he saw something rather curious - the corner of the note peeked its way out from under the book and wiggled anxiously. Draco watched in apprehension. The paper seemed to be struggling excessively to pull itself out from the heavy text, so he cautiously hooked a finger under the edge of Wigworthy's book and lifted it. The note came flying out at such momentum that Draco shot back, letting the book fall to the table again with a slam. Slowly, like a feather, the slip of paper floated into his lap and unfolded itself. He looked on curiously.

 _This will come in handy very shortly. Read up._

It was Madame Maxime's handwriting. Draco was horrified.

"I am _not_ ready for Muggles," said Draco angrily. Wigworthy's book floated into his lap and flipped itself to the first chapter in response.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**A/N: Sorry for the longer wait on this one, I have officially finished high school as of today, so it's been a bit busy! I hope you enjoy, and thank you for reading and reviewing and being so kind.**

* * *

 **Chapter Fifteen - Bad Omens**

In the very back of the Hogwarts, tucked into the smallest corner, one could find a desk and chair shoved unceremoniously into the nook, both piled high with books, parchment, quills, ink bottles, and more books. At first glance, it appeared to be void of life - the chair seated a roll of parchment that was so long it trailed onto the floor, displaying miniscule writing crammed together very closely to fit the maximum amount of words. It was only when one looked in the proper angle that Hermione Granger could be spotted behind a bookcase, sitting on the floor, with a weighty looking textbook propped up on her knees. Her hair seemed rather to explode in its frizziness more than usual, and her school uniform looked as though it could do with a good ironing.

"No, no, that's not it-" Hermione said to herself under her breath, scratching out yet another line on the parchment angrily with her quill. "What was it again?" Her hand shot towards a letter lying on an opened envelope on the ground next to her. _Write an essay explaining the progress wizards have made towards capturing the pure essence of time._ Her other hand dropped its quill and flipped the textbook in her lap open to the next chapter, which displayed a diagram of a wizard turning a Time-Turner. She sighed, looking down at what she had written. She had used a Time-Turner, this should be simple. Wait a moment - hadn't she seen something like bottle time? Flashing suddenly in her mind was the image of a Death Eater whose head slipped into a bell jar and warped it into a baby's, in the Department of Mysteries her fifth year. Was she allowed to write about that, or was it confidential?

A loud rap on the bookcase next to her startled her from her thoughts. "Library's closed now," said Madam Pince sharply, though over the years of constantly seeing Hermione absorbed in books, her tone was slightly less snappish towards her than other students. Looking towards the watch on her wrist, Hermione jumped up. Curfew was in minutes, she would get detention if she wasn't back to the common room in time.

Her week back at Hogwarts had been anything but leisurely, though she didn't have any classes. Her expedition to Switzerland and the turn of events had thrown her off course from her classes at Beauxbatons, and in a desperate attempt not to fall behind any further, Hermione had been sending and receiving owls left and right from various professors to receive assignments and turn others in. She had caught up in just about every class (and informed Madame Maxime and Madame Ruys that she would, in fact, be dropping Music in exchange for Wizarding Literature), except the extremely challenging Metaphysics course. She had a distinct feeling that as this course edged on the side of theory and philosophy rather than data and evidence, Luna Lovegood might excel in it far smoother. Still, she was determined to succeed. It was just as well that she covered so much ground in makeup work - tomorrow was Saturday morning, and she would heading back to Beauxbatons.

Cramming everything she could into her bag, Hermione scooped the rest into her arms and broke into a run out of the library and up to the seventh floor. After flying up six flights of stairs, she found herself gasping for breath, and only felt well enough to continue toward the Fat Lady's portrait when Mrs. Norris, the caretaker's cat, had slunk around the corner and cast her a disdainful look.

Despite the grandfather clock in the common room ringing curfew at ten o'clock, the place was abuzz with the chatter of Gryffindors as they played Wizard's Chess, Gobstones, and Exploding Snap, or sat in arm chairs scribbling homework assignments at the last minute. Hermione quickly spotted Harry, Ron, Ginny and Neville the to the side of the room, laughing as Ginny did an uncannily accurate impersonation of Professor Snape. Hermione took a seat next to Harry, who greeted her with a grin.

"Finish your work yet, Hermione?" he asked happily.

"No," she sighed, resigned. "Metaphysics is a bit more founded than Divination, you know, but I can't help but feel similarities in their general content."

"Right," agreed Harry, who was really not paying attention.

"It's weird though," chimed in Ginny, taking a break from impersonation. "You'll be back to Beauxbatons with Malfoy by tomorrow morning."

Hermione nodded solemnly. "Not only that, but with Luna Lovegood in tow." The strange Ravenclaw had certainly not let Hermione out of her promise to show her around Beauxbatons and had even managed to get her word on assisting in lookout for a Demiguise. As for Draco Malfoy, it had been established a day ago that he had returned to Beauxbatons after a rather unwelcome reception from his fellow Slytherins. She had sent an owl with a brief letter to see how he was doing, but never received a reply. Of course, she didn't particularly think it a good idea to disclose to Ron or Harry that she was sending out owls to check in on their collective arch-nemesis.

"I suppose I better head up to bed," said Hermione, yawning as her textbook on Metaphysics lay forgotten in her bag. She had just finished a game of Wizard's Chess against Ron and was sorely defeated, and she was anxious for tomorrow to arrive to see how Draco was holding up. _If I only knew if he was alright,_ Hermione thought anxiously, _then I would stop thinking about him._ However, as soon as Hermione lay her head down on her pillow that night, a wave of exhaustion hit her and the thought of Draco Malfoy was swallowed by her dreams.

* * *

"Father is a bit skeptical of the accuracy of Floo powder," said Luna lightly as her glassy gaze fell onto the jar of what looked like ash. "I think he might've had a bad experience with it - you know, he's currently working on extracting bone meal from already deceased thestrals as an alternative means of transportation-"

At this point, Hermione wisely chose to stop listening, scooping up a generous portion of the fine powder in her hand and tossing it into the fire. "Luna, it's our only way to Beauxbatons so you'll just have to go."

"Of course, it's worth it to see a Demiguise," said Luna happily, stepping into the flames. One dreamy call for Beauxbatons later, and the strange girl had vanished. Hermione sighed, turning to Harry and Ron who were very desperately trying to contain their laughter.

"I reckon Hermione will come back to Hogwarts after an hour with Luna," said Ron, finally releasing a snicker.

"That, or I'll send her back with thestral bone meal," groaned Hermione. Moments later, she was flying through space engulfed in flames herself. When she tumbled a little less than gracefully out the fireplace in her and Draco's common room, she was met with a very peculiar sight. Draco Malfoy had seemingly just sprung from his seat on the sofa, leaving behind a rather large leather bound book behind. Hermione and Luna's eyes followed it, but before Hermione could make out the curly red title-

" _Incendio!_ " Draco had lit the book on fire, wand extended shakily and face white as snow. Luna raised an eyebrow in intrigue, however, Hermione -

"Are you burning a _book_?" she hissed angrily, lunging forward with her wand. " _Aguamenti!_ " But it was too late, the flames had subsided to reveal the book was already incinerated to ashes and bits of blackened parchment. Draco let out a heavy sigh of relief, the corners of his mouth twitching in poorly concealed glee. Hermione gaped.

"If that was a library book-" Hermione started, rounding on him. He began to back up, hands raised in defense, though a smirk plastered on his face.

"Relax, Granger, it wasn't from the library," he said.

Hermione was neither convinced nor relieved. "And if it was my book, so help me Merlin, I will jinx you all the way back to Hogwarts."

If anything, Draco appeared even more amused. "Ah, well, you might have too many books as it is-"

"Look at it," said Luna softly, as Hermione raised her wand at Draco in fury. Draco, despite being in danger of being jinxed back to Scotland, cast a panicked look at where the ashes of the once-book lay. Curiosity gripped Hermione now, and casting a final scowl towards Draco, Hermione took place next to Luna, who was kneeling beside the sofa, watching the ashes with heightened interest. Sure enough, the ashes were beginning to levitate, circling each other until it formed something of a scaled down tornado. The burnt bits of parchment lightened until they could make out the tiny black inky words printed on them. The book was reconstructing itself. Draco looked on in horror. The pages had all seemed to be reconstructed, now the cover was reforming itself, wrapping around the pages, and -

" _Accio_ book!" yelled Draco hastily, and it zoomed past Luna's head in such proximity that her hair rustled. Little flecks of ash followed closely behind. Draco had shoved the book behind his back, cast an icy glare at the two girls, and stalked off to his room. The door slammed shut forcibly and Hermione furrowed her brows - what was Draco up to now? Surely he had learned his lesson last time.

"He's very strange, isn't he?" said Luna happily, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred. Normally, Hermione would've thought it very ironic to hear Luna Lovegood calling another student strange, but she couldn't deny something odd was going on with Draco.

"Let's go walk out to the grounds, you can see where you'll want to look for Demiguise," sighed Hermione, choosing to temporarily focus on another activity while the scene of Draco burning the book simmered in her mind a while longer.

* * *

If the book had been a sentient being, it might've cowered in fear under the scowl Draco Malfoy was currently giving it. He had slammed onto his bedside table. Why the hell had Madame Maxime bewitched it to regenerate? It was a book about Muggles for crying out loud, not Merlin's own personal writings. Perhaps she suspected him to attempt to destroy it. Even so, who would care? The mattress of his bed groaned as he dropped onto it with an agitated sigh.

 _How the bloody hell did I end up reading that thing at the exact moment Loony Lovegood and Granger show up?_ thought Draco angrily, cursing himself for his stupidity. He truly hadn't meant to read it at all in the first place - he had all but ignored it sitting on the coffee table for a week now. The dark wood-beamed ceiling loomed overhead as Draco lay on his bed staring up at it. He could see the book out of the corner of his eye. He ignored it.

"Stupid Wigworthy," Draco cursed under his breath. Light from the magically burning candle next to his bed flickered off the cold stone walls. Draco rolled onto his stomach to look at it. It had been burning all day, yet the wick had never shortened and though a pool of melted wax circled it, it never grew more than an inch wide across. He had never felt the need to question why the candle never melted or the wick never burned, he had never really even considered that magic was keeping it preserved.

And then, this morning when he lit it with a flick of his wand, he had the thought - it must've been annoying for Granger to keep buying new candles when she was under the impression that she was a Muggle. And that had got him thinking more about the inconveniences of Muggle life. How was their food preserved? Where did their water come from? And so he had opened Wigworthy's stupid book about Muggles. He had barely managed to read the title of the first chapter, "Electricity and its Function in the British Muggle Dwelling", when Lovegood came hurtling out of nowhere.

His gaze drifted down from the glowing blaze of the candle fire and rested on the previously-incinerated book. His questions were still very much unanswered, and it might not be so bad to be a step ahead of whatever horror Madame Maxime was planning for him that had to do with Muggles. The books was soon on his lap, his eyes scanning the words with a growing intrigue and his pale fingers flickering through the pages as he gained momentum. By the end of the first chapter, Draco felt very irritated that Muggles could figure out electricity and he couldn't even follow a basic explanation.

* * *

"I think the trees to the east of the chateau were more to a Demiguise's preference, don't you?" Luna asked Hermione happily, as they trudged in the part of the forest that was all the way west of the chateau. They had already been trekking about for an hour, and Hermione had twigs in her hair and burs caught on her clothes as they were in the thick of the forest. She was absolutely miserable, though doing her best not to show it. She didn't know what irritated her most: Luna's overly positive attitude on accomplishing absolutely nothing, or the fact that she was now suggesting another hour trek in the completely opposite direction. Not to mention, it was November now, and the temperature was becoming more biting. She pulled her sweater around her and gritted her teeth.

"Fine," she said after a moment, desperately trying to procure an excuse to go back inside. "Although we might do well with a bit of lunch before hand."

"It'll be quick," Luna assured her, ignoring Hermione's plea for food and adjusting her Spectrespecs. "Do you think Madame Maxime would allow us to camp out in the eastern grove for the night? Demiguise can be even more elusive in the daytime, our chances might increase under nightfall."

"No," said Hermione tersely, wondering what exactly she had said that led the strange girl to believe she was interested in seeing a Demiguise as well. Of course, she would love to see one - there was just the problem they didn't exist in the continent. Maybe Luna Lovegood would be better off finding a Japanese student and tagging along at Mahoutokoro, the wizarding school in Japan, where Demiguise actually lived.

"I wonder if Madame Maxime has seen a Demiguise," chirped Luna, skipping through the brushes while her wand spun on her hand like a compass to lead them back out of the woods.

"I doubt it," snapped Hermione as she torn a spiky plant from her skirt with a wince. "Unless she's gone east."

"They're migratory creatures," said Luna matter-of-factly, as though this settled it.

"Right," said Hermione dully.

"Alright, Gustav's been taken up the mountain a ways to hunt." A burst of fiery red hair emerged from the trees to the left of the girls, and Charlie Weasley was grinning happily.

"Gustav?" Luna asked with intrigue.

"Beauxbatons' very own dragon," answered Charlie proudly. "Hermione told me you'd be trekking the forests, so we thought it best to get Gustav out of the way. Although, I have to say I didn't quite expect Hermione to be joining this little expedition."

Hermione just shrugged, so as not to completely betray her distemper.

"Yes, we're heading east now," Luna informed him.

"Ah," said Charlie, smiling. "Don't mind if I join you for awhile? Could do with a bit of a walk."

"Please," said Hermione quickly, glad of company that wasn't solely Luna.

"Would you like a pair of Spectrespecs, Charlie?" Luna asked kindly, extending a hand clasped lightly about the strange pair of glasses fabled to spot the infamous Wrackspurts. Charlie grinned wide.

"Absolutely," he said with enthusiasm, immediately pushing them onto his nose. Through the tinted pink lens, Hermione just barely caught the wink he sent her. Even she couldn't resist a smile seeing Charlie Weasley in such ridiculous eyewear.

"I asked Hermione, but I don't think she believes they work," stated Luna, staring dolefully at Hermione.

"What!" Charlie cried. "Come on Hermione, you should know better than that! Come on, put a pair on now." His grin was only growing wider. He certainly was related to Fred and George. Luna, with her newly found ally, dug enthusiastically through her bag until she extracted another pair of Spectrespecs.

"No, really, it's alright, I just don't fancy seeing Wrackspurts at the moment," pleaded Hermione.

"Nonsense - you'll have to put them on for the sake of this entire expedition!" Charlie insisted, heading towards her with the glasses. Hermione quickly stumbled backwards into some brambles.

"Ouch!"

"Watch out for Nargles!" Luna cried.

Charlie, however, promptly pushed the Spectrespecs onto her face. "There! Now we can continue." Hermione cast him a glare that she doubt he received through the spiraled lenses. The trek back to the eastern grove had begun, and Luna and Charlie were quickly swept up in a discussion about dragons. Hermione walked a ways behind, listening to bits and pieces of the conversation and smiling lightly as she appreciated Charlie's patience with Luna that she lacked. Her mood had slightly increased since his arrival, though her feet and legs still ached and the cuts from barbed plants stung at her skin. More than once did she find herself tripping on rocks and roots that she would have ordinarily seen without the distorted vision of the Spectrespecs, and she was glad to see it wasn't just her having difficulties, either. Charlie had just stubbed his toe on a rock and swore. Luna, however, seemed to float through the trees as if they weren't really there.

"So, Hermione," said Charlie once all of Luna's strange questions about Gustav had been thoroughly sorted half an hour later. "How are you holding up at Beauxbatons?"

"Alright, I suppose," she said, biting her lip tentatively. "I haven't actually gotten to go to very many of my classes, and that was what I was most eager for."

"Ah, well, Madame Maxime has something higher planned for you, whether you like it or not," said Charlie, shaking his head with a smile. "The woman knows how to get what she wants and not step on any toes doing it."

"I wish I could join you sometime on an assignment," chimed in Luna. "It would feel rather like Dumbledore's Army again."

"I doubt I'll have another assignment any time soon. The last one didn't go so well," said Hermione, both wishing it would have gone smoother for Madame Maxime's sake, and that maybe she could have a nice long stretch to catch up on classes before winter holiday.

"And how are things going with the Malfoy boy?" Charlie asked with a raised eyebrow. Luna turned curiously to Hermione as well.

"He's not completely awful to me anymore," said Hermione after a brief reflection. "Although he still gets under my skin, and there's something he tried to hide from me and Luna today."

"Yes, Wigworthy!" Luna said excitedly. Hermione froze.

"What about Wigworthy?" Hermione knew that name from when she had taken Muggle Studies in her third year - hadn't he wrote the textbook?

"That was the name on the book he burned," said Luna, nodding. "I saw it before he summoned it to him."

"Who's Wigworthy?" Charlie asked, looking bewildered.

"He writes books about how Muggles live - although he might have other books, I'm not sure," answered Hermione promptly. What was Draco Malfoy doing reading about Muggles? This, of all things, seemed the most far-fetched. He had been raised to believe Muggles were lower than the lowest wizards and that they jeopardized the sanctity of the wizarding world. Surely he didn't just spring a curiosity about them from nowhere. And hadn't the book reconstructed itself? What in the name of Merlin was happening? Even if he had warmed up to the idea of Muggle-borns (and Hermione was still not entirely sure he had, just because he had stopped calling her a Mudblood), Muggles were another entire sphere.

"Let me get this right - a Malfoy is reading about Muggle lifestyle?" Charlie asked in disbelief.

"No, it can't be right," said Hermione, not believing either. "Wigworthy could have books on other subjects and - Luna, are you sure of what you saw?"

"Yes, I'm sure," said Luna dreamily. "I don't think it's so strange Draco is reading about Muggles," she added. Hermione and Charlie exchanged looks that only solidified that they thought otherwise.

"Old habits die hard," said Hermione solemnly. "He's been civil to me and he's even saved my life, but prejudice doesn't just flip off like a switch."

"What's a switch?" Luna and Charlie both asked, and Hermione let out a sigh. _Wizards_.

* * *

By the end of the day, Hermione hadn't caught sight of Draco anywhere, though she had a distinct feeling he was hidden behind his bedroom door, sulking. She could almost feel his scowl through the heavy oak. More than once, the question of how he was going to the bathroom entered her mind, but she waved this thought away, thinking perhaps it was better _not_ to know such information. Currently, Hermione was tucked away in a chair, her nose nearly pressed to a book, though the words were not processing in her brain at the moment. Luna Lovegood, to her absolute horror, had met Gabrielle Delacour earlier on in the day, and the French girl was absolutely delighted at the idea of camping out in the eastern grove, though more as a social event than an expedition for a Demiguise. So the two of them, despite Hermione's begging, had sought permission from the Headmistress. Now a small group of students were meeting out in the lawns to head into the woods and set up tents. Hermione couldn't get past the shock that Madame Maxime trusted a group of unsupervised teenagers to be left to their own devices. She had half a mind to join, if only to enforce school rules, but upon further reflection, Luna's strangeness and constant reference to the Demiguise and Wrackspurts and Nargles would be enough to kill any blossoming teenage rebellion. And, if anything, it was lucky for her that she no longer had to share a bedroom with Luna Lovegood.

Hermione Granger, however, did not have the time to stay up all night looking for creatures that existed halfway across the globe and keeping teenagers under control. Her metaphysics book was looking more and more menacing the longer she took to complete her homework, and even now panic was starting to creep up on her as she realized she didn't remember anything from the last page she had just read. _Focus,_ she told herself sternly, rubbing any tiredness from her eyes and pressing her face once more to the pages of the book. She was about two sentences in when she heard a door creaking open softly.

"Damn, I thought you were out," said a voice coolly. He stood in his doorway, looking unsure on whether to step out of it. Hermione's eyes flitted up to meet him and she barely held in a gasp to see a very hassled looking Draco. He had discarded his Hogwarts school vest and tie, leaving nothing but the stark white button-up shirt that was undone messily at the top, untucked from his trousers, which were looking worlds away from their usually primly ironed state. His feet were bare against the cold stone ground, and his hair wasn't carefully smoothed into place, rather like he had just awoken and ran quick fingers through it. For the first time as she had ever seen him, Draco Malfoy looked as ordinary of a teenage boy as Harry or Ron did, not caught up in looking the part of an aristocrat's son. She had to admit, she was thrown off.

"Oh - well, I had work to do, so I couldn't go on Luna's camping trip," said Hermione, realizing that she was staring and turning her gaze back to her book. She debated for a moment whether she ought to bring up the book he had previously tried to incinerated, but after a moment of biting at her bottom lip, she decided against it. It was just as well - she looked up again to see Draco had left his spot in the door frame and was heading straight to her room. "What are you doing?"

He raised a pale eyebrow. "Going to the bathroom?"

"Oh - right." She had forgotten about that situation. "Speaking of, did you ever try to get that fixed?"

A scowl crossed his face. "Yes. More than once."  
"And?"

"You mean what did Madame Maxime say, once she finished laughing her head off about it?" His voice was bitter. "She said the placement of the Ambassador's Chambers made it impossible to carve out another room. I'm calling bullshit on that, though. I think she's amused by our pain."

"Maybe I'll bring it up with her…" said Hermione, uncertain that Madame Maxime would really find the situation funny. Perhaps Draco hadn't really asked? It wouldn't be so strange of him, to force her to let him use her bedroom as a hallway to the bathroom. Would it?

"By all means," said Draco invitingly, before stalking off into her room. Hermione returned to her homework. Then she raised her head - Draco's bedroom door was wide open. She could spot the corner of his bed and the flickering flame of a candle. She twisted in her seat to take a hurried glance at her own bedroom door, which he had also left wide open. He was in the bathroom, and if it was than just to urinate, she might have enough time to dart into his room and settle the matter of the book. Heat rose to her face as she realized she was contemplating what situation his bowels were currently in - how disgusting. Though now was a good of an opportunity as she was going to get to search the boy's room. She pushed her book from her lap and stood, eyes never leaving her own bedroom door, in case he reappeared suddenly. She kicked off her shoes and her feet, padding with thick woolen socks, were silent against the stone floor.

His bedroom was significantly tidier than it had been in previous encounters. The room was a twin copy of her own, though the blankets draped across his bed were made of a black, satin-like material, whereas her own were a dense, brown fur of a pelt. Her eyes quickly scanned the room, finding the bed to hold nothing but its coverings and the nightstand stark and empty. Inevitably, her eyes drifted over to a closed trunk - now she was very well and truly about to invade his privacy. It was times like this she truly felt she was a Gryffindor, rather than a Ravenclaw. Her insatiable curiosity overtook her cautionary wisdom, and her fingers quickly worked at the latches. She had just swung the lid open when-

"What the hell are you doing?" His voice was clear as ice, and just as biting in coldness. She might have been petrified by the sheer anger she could hear, suppressed behind his iciness, but she was rather more petrified by the book she had glimpsed in the trunk, and the note lying atop it.

"Why," she began slowly, "does Madame Maxime want you to study Muggle living?"

This was a very bad omen indeed, she thought furiously. A bad omen for both of them.


End file.
